


Sins of the Father

by Ranowa



Series: Respice, Adspice, Prospice [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Dark, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hyuroi friendship is what's up, Panic Attacks, Rape Recovery, Roy is not good at taking care of himself, Suicidal Thoughts, don't do drugs kids roy will show you why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-02 16:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 102,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17267159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/pseuds/Ranowa
Summary: Sequel to Just a Number.Seven months after being rescued, according to all opinions except his own, Roy is not doing well. He’s not really interested what anyone else thinks of him, of course. Because he’s fine. He is one hundred percent, absolutely, unequivocally, undeniably, fine.And then, suddenly, he’s not so fine anymore.“Roy’s gone, Hughes.”





	1. Rules

**Author's Note:**

> HEYYYYYYO! Who here wants to start off their brand spanking new 2019 with some ANGST???? :D 
> 
> So things actually start off pretty slow in the first chapter. I need to set the stages for a lot of things and all the expositiony stuff just sort of ended up dumped in here, so let's try and get to some meatier stuff quickly, shall we? I'm thinking I'll update every three days, at this point; we'll see if that changes at some point in the future. See you back on Friday!
> 
> Not so serious note: One of the things I’ve always hated about CoS (bear with me a moment, please) is that it utterly smashed and ruined the hopeful ending Roy had going on in the 2003 epilogue. It was so nice to see someone smiling and healing for once- then bam, not anymore. ...Remember the hopeful ending I gave Just a Number? ...Anyone noticed yet how much of a giant hypocrite I am? ........
> 
> Enjoy :)

Roy had rules.

He liked his rules. They were familiar; since his days as a young, naive cadet, his life had been mired, structured, and controlled with them, and he’d marched within their guidelines for so long they were no longer a stifling oppression, but a close comfort. They were constant; rules were rules, always there and not to be broken. They were safe.

He needed his rules.

Rule number one:

Leave him alone.

With a deep, shuddering sigh, Roy rose from his kitchen table, casting only a glance towards the meager remains of dinner before turning his eyes away. He was alone now. Alone, in the way he required, needed, demanded. Slowly, he turned to proceed forwards in carefully measured steps, bare feet passing over the scarred wood flooring. Each step was exact, skin pressing over his array, etched deep into every face of his life. There was a little tingle of alchemy, of life, whenever his steps carried him into contact with another array, the same tingle any alchemist would know, but it was so present in his life now he barely even felt it.

That was rule number two:

Never be more than one foot away from an array.

That one wasn’t hard to accomplish.

Calmly, Roy pivoted, trailing a hand along another etched array as he brought himself to sit down on his couch. A slight shiver ran along his naked flesh, a trail of goosebumps growing along his arms in the cold chill of his apartment. Being cold was more comfortable and familiar than the alternative. He glanced down at his chilled skin without making any real attempt to rub the chill away, more just driven by a morbid curiosity to watch as he shivered, how his scars twitched and stood out, stark and disgusting and pale against his already sallow skin.

Then, he simply transferred his attention to the pile of unfinished paperwork on his table, and picked up his pen.

The cold was familiar. The cold was recognizable.

Wearing clothes when he’d not been given permission, even in the safety and darkness of his own locked apartment, was neither of those things. It remained, even now, so unsettling it was intolerable.

The cold was safe.

And he needed safe.

His clock ticked in the silence, a driving, penetrating drill through his skull. Roy scowled.

Paperwork was as dull as ever, a mind-numbing task. It didn't bother him too much anymore, he supposed- the mind-numbing was part of its charm. His fingers ached a little, the stumps complaining after a long day of signing his signature, but it was just as Ed had said- the pain was something he’d gotten used to. When it rained, when he was cold, long and repetitive activity- whatever. It wasn’t much to complain about. The dull ache in his nerves was actually welcome, some days... gave him something to occupy his thoughts with.

That was rule number three:

Couldn’t let his mind wonder.

That led to bad places.

Lots of things led to bad places, really.

Midway through his fifth form, his right hand cramped up again, badly enough he was forced into dropping his pen. Scowling again, Roy brought his hands into his lap, pushing the paperwork away to roughly massage the aching joints, rubbing around the metal ports with tired and scarred fingers. The stumps weren’t the only things to hurt; his whole hands were mangled and scarred, broken from being hammered and stomped into a stone floor and then broken again, this time by doctors trying to piece them together correctly in a surgery. They were sore all the time, a soreness that some days, he cursed, and others, he relished. They weren’t an attractive sight, either, he thought idly, watching as his left hand steadily worked and rubbed over the right one. Popular opinion was that war scars were sexy, but the nasty twists of skin over _his_ hands, gnarled and grotesque, were simply ugly.

He hid them most days, with his gloves. He didn’t need their array anymore, but the pyrotex cloth was still instrumental, and not just to keep together whatever was left of his image. He wore them daily, and even still snapped sometimes, for the flashy show of it- but it didn’t matter.

He didn’t need his gloves for that anymore.

_Knock, knock._

His heart jolted in an almost electric shock, and with no more stimulus than that, his blood ran so cold it felt as if ice had melted to run through his veins.

His alchemy exploded to glow in the array cut into his chest, and before he’d ever even made the conscious decision to see it happen, a flame burst to life over his palm.

“Oi, Roy. It’s me, buddy. Open up!”

...

And just like that, the flame born from near panic, a heartstopping, choking, strangling fear that tore through him from head to toe, the cold _terror_ that robbed his every breath away-

That was all extinguished into nothing.

_Knock, knock, knock._

This time, by irritation.

He scowled again.

Roy had his rules.

Rule number one: leave him alone.

And Hughes, too, had rules.

Hughes’ rule number one:

Break all of Roy’s rules.

Ass.

His blood still ran cold as he dragged himself to his feet, the aftereffects of fear lingering even though he knew it was no longer necessary. He glared daggers at his apartment door, the cold anger at being harassed like this intermixing with pathetic nerves to make him feel weak and ill, a walking mess one wrong word away from blowing.

With a breath of annoyed air, Roy tugged himself to his feet, only because he knew from experience Hughes wasn’t going away until he got what he’d wanted. He picked up a nearby bathrobe, threadbare and thin, and wrapped it around himself just as he reached a hand out to unchain the deadbolt, unlock the door, and reveal his annoying nag of a best friend.

Hughes gave him a sharp grin, and at least had the grace to hide the relief he knew he’d earned just for opening the dammed door. “Evening, recluse,” he greeted warmly, like there was nothing wrong at all.

Roy glared.

“It’s late, Hughes.”

“Yes, I can... see that.” The investigator cast a critical eye at his state of dress, and this time, his shiver wasn’t due to the cold. “Seeing as it’s a little too early to actually be turning in, though, mind if I come in?”

Yes. He did mind.

“...Fine,” he muttered, and stepped back.

He turned his back on Hughes, not wanting to catch the sight of him looking around his apartment for any signs of a problem. Roy had long since learned to hide those signs from him, and did nothing but ignore him entirely as he sat back down on his couch, pulling his paperwork back into his lap to be signed, cramping fingers be dammed. “Make yourself at home,” he deadpanned, colder than ice, and signed his name again.

Hughes did just that, after another few moments of satisfying himself his best friend wasn’t about to go off the deep end- however the hell that would look. “Just thought I’d swing by,” the man said, carefully light, as he slowly lowered himself to sit down on the opposite end of the couch, leveling him with a look that was nothing short of unnerving. “See how you were.”

“That’s nice,” he drawled, and signed his name again.

Hughes sighed.

There was another uncomfortable stretch of silence. Roy listened only to the scratch of his pen as it filled his apartment, determinedly ignoring the man sitting next to him with every fiber of his being. His skin crawled and itched with discomfort, like bugs burrowing in his veins and buzzing in his head, his mouth tasted of nervous bile, his hands felt sore and cold and clammy while his heart pounded-

Goddammit. All he needed was to be alone. That was _all_ that he asked for.

Why couldn't his friends afford him even that much?

His pen continued to scratch away into the silence. Roy finished one form at last, pulled it out to slip into the bottom of the pile with a quiet huff, and set about continuing on.

“You looked a little... tired, at work today," Maes said at last. His voice was soft and not a judgment, but firm. "I noticed myself, but, your staff was worried as well.”

Hmph. Roy did have to restrain a pleased smirk at that... at least he'd been blunt. Anyone else would’ve tried to beat around the bush so gracelessly he would’ve wanted to scream. He could appreciate that much... even if everything else about this visit and barely begun conversation made him want to scream.

“Late night," was all he murmured aloud, checking off another box on the form.

“...Right.” Maes paused again, heavy gaze weighing on the back of his neck; the suspicion and concern, well-meaning as they were, reverberated like a ringing church bell from that one soft syllable alone, and Roy gritted his teeth. He pushed himself back into the corner of the cushions a little more, as if that might somehow manage to hide him from that dammed perceptive gaze, glaring harder at his papers and biting his tongue to prevent himself from lashing out.

Another few lines of his form passed in utter silence.

Then, shifting against the cushions, his friend tried again. "Listen, Roy-"

“You saw me at your house _yesterday,_ Hughes,” he grunted. His pen dug such a hard line into the form he was sure it had imprinted the next three pages. “If something was so dreadfully wrong with me you and you couldn’t figure it out over a two hour dinner, then I think you need to turn in your commission.”

Because that, simply, was Hughes’ rule number two:

Roy had no choice but to go over to his home every week for a homecooked meal, because Hughes needed to feel like he was taking care of his best friend, and he did it by butting his way into his life like an uninvited itch that couldn’t be scratched and harassing him until he was forced into giving in.

If it hadn’t been for Gracia sadly pleading with him to just let her husband try, he never would’ve caved in the first place.

Maes glared at him but didn’t really answer him, which was fine; the only thing he was interested in was ending this conversation. He could still feel his best friend looking over him worriedly for several more moments, though, and barely repressed a sigh of relief when he felt his friend looking back down to his hands instead.

There was nothing here for the man to even find, he reminded himself. The ass had poured out all his alcohol months ago, if that was what he was looking for, and his foster mother had started refusing to serve him, anyway. At that point, Roy had finally given up on replacing it.

He had a better drug of choice now, anyway.

“Elicia’s graduating end of the week,” Maes said abruptly, with a hint of a smile on his voice. “She’d love it if you could come.”

“Graduating. Kindergarten.” Slowly, Roy signed the form a final time, then raised his gaze just enough to watch Maes out of the corner of his eye. “We’re celebrating one of the most basic and mandated of life’s milestones. ...Believe me, Hughes, I’m _ever_ so proud of her, but-“

“No one asked your opinion on it, or for you to be an ass about it.” And Hughes was glaring at him now, but he supposed he deserved that one, as his best friend leaned forward a little more to pierce him with a steady gaze and a frown. “It’s Friday. Already checked with Hawkeye, she’ll try and keep your schedule clear then, in case you decide to go.”

Roy closed his eyes, breathing out a long, meant to be steadying sigh, and forced himself to stay calm.

“...Fine.”

It was far easier to accept something he didn’t want, than to say no.

The silence left in the wake of his answer was depressing, to say the least. It was plain Maes didn’t take this as a victory. It was plain he knew he was only agreeing to it at all because he felt cornered, and that hadn’t been Maes’ intention in coming over here like this- but now, Maes was in a corner just as much as Roy. He couldn’t very well revoke the invitation because he wasn’t happy with how he’d accepted it, and the conversation was effectively over.

Which was all he’d wanted from the start, really.

Maes left him in silence again, seeming just as uncertain and uncomfortable as Roy had wanted him to be. Roy kept his gaze down on the pages again, letting himself shiver under the thin robe and inch further and further away, slipping until another array was in reach. He couldn’t describe the sense of comfort he got, from leaning a hand against it; he wasn’t afraid of his own friend, he didn’t think he would hurt him, but-

He felt better, just knowing it was in reach.

He and Maes sat in silence again, the scratching of his pen the only noise there was. Slowly, the atmosphere in his apartment shifted, as his best friend didn’t challenge him again and instead just let him sit there in a companionable quiet. Bit by bit, inch by inch, he began to drag his hand away from the array, feeling the hard pulse of his heart calm as the chill in his blood retreated. Everything was fine. Just Maes.

Just Maes.

As much as he hated his best friend, some of these days, he was still the only thing he had anymore.

Finally, something in him gave way, tension loosened, and his pen fell from his hands.

Still, neither said anything. He knew Maes was still looking at him and averted his eyes because of it; whenever someone watched him now, it was not with a look he wanted to see. He wasn’t sure what sort of signal his friend was waiting for, an unspoken and invisible signal that he was all right- finally, somehow having gotten what he’d wanted, Maes leaned forward, shifting as if he was about to stand. “Roy.”

He continued to stare down at his hands.

“Roy. Look at me.”

...

His green eyes were concerned, dark with worry, gaze somehow inescapable. Something under his skin crawled at the attention, but Maes just watched him for a long moment, unreadable but stern, worried but unyielding.

Then he said, voice soft, “You know that if there’s anything you need, you can come to me.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was just a reminder- but one that still demanded the reassurance that he understood.

Slowly, Roy forced himself to nod.

And that was all Maes was looking for.

* * *

A short, uncomfortable, shared goodbye later, Roy shut and locked his door behind Maes, ditched the robe to shiver even more violently, and decided to just give up pretending to be normal for the night and go to sleep.

After dry-swallowing enough sleeping pills to tranquilize a horse, he curled up, naked and freezing, on the scarred floor of his apartment, draped a hand over the nearest array, and waited for rest to come.

* * *

Roy Mustang had his rules.

Maes Hughes broke his rules.

And Riza Hawkeye watched.

That was her job; watching the colonel. It was simply that the rules of what she was supposed to watch had changed, over the years. Her first responsibility had been as a sniper, to sit miles away and keep her eyes open for any Isvhallan that dared to challenge the might of their military. It had also been the most painful job of her life, and she was glad it was done. Her second responsibility had been to guard him through the ranks; not just his body, but his integrity as well, and to stand by him with every mission and rise in rank until there was no higher for them to climb. This assignment was easier, and generally consisted of her telling him off for acting recklessly in the rain or standing over his desk taping her foot the midnight before a deadline.

Her third responsibility was now: still to guard him, but this time, the threat she most often protected Roy from was Roy himself.

It was her hardest task, and she still wasn’t sure the day wouldn’t come where she would fail him.

“This is Colonel Mustang, of the Amestrian military! Lay down your weapons and surrender; we have you surrounded!”

“Purely because my men and I followed you down here despite, and I quote, _I’ve got this, seriously, there’ll be no danger at all._ Without me it’d be just you. But, you’re welcome.”

“Hughes... I swear to _god...”_

Hawkeye smirked a little, adjusting her stance to swivel her aim from her commander to the one looking the twitchiest with his gun.

Thankfully, she had Hughes to help her out.

She kept her gaze on Mustang more than the enemy, watching him to see what he prepared to do. He still had one gloved hand held up high, fingers poised to snap, and that, combined with Hughes and his men, had turned the situation completely in their favor. There was little for her to worry about, but, knowing her superior, she could never be too careful.

He wore The Look again, the increasingly familiar detached, cold mask that was utterly unreadable, even to her. His face was cold and pale, black eyes narrowed in an implacable glare, expression set into something like steel: unyielding, unmoving, and like ice. It was similar to the Colonel Mustang mask he’d adopted over the years, but it had shifted in these past several months, transforming from confident, youthful arrogance into something so detached and cold it could still send chills down her spine. The mask wasn’t just for his image anymore, but for _everyone._ A permanent shield between himself, and the rest of the world- a shield even she and Hughes were treated to.

She’d learned not to mind it. In her experience, things weren’t bad when the mask was present.

It was when it had fallen apart that they most needed to worry.

Slowly, one by one, their suspects began to lower their weapons; Hughes and his men, godsends, the all of them, began to advance to disarm them while her superior stayed back, gloved hand raised in case of necessity. She caught a few more muttered insults traded inbetween Mustang and Hughes, and couldn’t help herself from smiling again.

“It was _supposed_ to just be a warehouse inspection-“

“And I told you there’d been drug activity in this area, didn’t I say that? That’s what I said, I told you _Roy, there’s-“_

“You do realize you were never invited here, don’t you? Because you’re not invited on my missions?”

“And why would I ever want to be? Missions for you freak alchemists; what am I supposed to do, fire my slingshot around at people?”

“I’d welcome a slingshot to the face if you would just _shut it.”_

 _Yes,_ Hawkeye thought as she watched the two men glare daggers at each other, her superior the closest to smiling he had been all week, _thank god for Hughes._

That was another thing, actually- another change the last seven months had seen. She and the lieutenant colonel were still those closest to him, and he still depended on her in the same silent ways he always had.

But he would only talk to Hughes.

He wouldn’t explain why- she supposed that wasn’t surprising, giving that he wouldn’t talk to her about any of it. But she hadn’t known him for nearly two decades for nothing. It wasn’t difficult for her to tell when something was wrong with him... or, _more_ wrong, at least. Hawkeye was rather convinced there was _always_ something wrong with him now, and there was going to be for a very long time.

But she could still tell when something was off. When he wasn’t sleeping or eating well, or when the stress was getting to be too much, or- any number of things. Three times now, she’d had to quietly clear out the rest of the men and call Hughes because Roy had had a panic attack or gotten upset and _needed_ to go home, but wouldn’t so much as unlock his office door to let her inside.

Hughes told her- privately, of course- that his new unwillingness to rely on her now was just... Roy being Roy. She knew the colonel didn’t like admitting to weaknesses, couldn’t stand letting others see them... couldn’t _bear_ to be vulnerable, and couldn’t bear even more for anyone else to know it.

Hughes, at least, had already seen him at far worse than he was now. Even if it had all been coincidental things had turned out this way, Hughes and his men being the one to find him seven months ago while she was kept hundreds of miles away, Hughes being the one to stay with him in the early stages of his recovery while she fought desperately to both hold his unit together and get a transfer back to Central to be with him- Hughes had been there with him then, and she hadn’t. Somehow, in that time, she had gone from being someone he’d trusted even his weakest, darkest moments with- to being held back away at arm’s length.

At least, in Hughes’ mind.

Riza had always suspected that, while the lieutenant colonel’s explanation did hold a kernel of truth... it was more than that.

The sound of footsteps caught her attention, breaking her unhappy reverie to turn back and watch as her two superiors off with several newspaper reporters, clearly drawn over by the sight of the large arrest. They were probably not a threat- she even recognized one of them from other interviews the colonel had done- but hurried over, just in case. She made it in time to watch her colonel flash a vaguely unsettling caricature of a smile, unsettling only because she knew him well enough to see it was as fake and cold as his mask, and announce, “There’s no need to fear. The military has been aware of the crime infesting this area for some time now, and we’re going to do something about it. Today is the only the start; from here on out, we’re going to be in here, dragging out filth, and restoring this sector to her former glory!”

Riza stared at him, slowly fighting back a smile and a swell of familiar affection, and even from here, could see Hughes’ mouth twitch.

They really had just been out here on an innocuous warehouse inspection. If not for Hughes trailing them, they would’ve been ambushed, and half the block would be on fire.

Forever a politician.

Hughes’ glare was just as disguised as Roy’s cold smile. “A comment from the Investigations department,” he commented dryly, and not so subtly elbowed him in the ribs. “From the _actual_ Investigations officer here- we’ve arrested one of the major drug rings in this area today. We’ll be keeping an eye out, but anticipate today’s actions alone will be enough to put a serious dent in crime here.” Then, just out of the reporters’ line of sight, and of no surprise to Hawkeye, so clearly unappreciative of being put on the spot like this as he was: he stomped on Roy’s foot.

Roy smirked.

The two officers continued to schmooze for several minutes, Mustang a little more gleefully than Hughes. Finally the vultures began to depart, having gotten their story, and she moved in a little closer to watch as Hughes’ face softened into a fond grin. “Well. You look like you had fun, didn’t you, Roy?”

“It’s not my fault the press is so easy to manipulate,” the colonel said loftily, and Riza found herself glaring at the back of his head.

Hughes snorted. “Right. Well, I suppose I can’t blame you; the headline _Useless Colonel Mustang gets saved by Awesome Best Friend_ just isn’t as flattering.” Shaking his head, the investigator led the way back to one of the cars, one hand planted on her commander’s shoulder to propel him along the way. Mustang glared right back, muttering something definitely not work appropriate under his breath, and Hawkeye rolled her eyes at the both of them as she climbed into the driver’s seat.

* * *

Because Gracia was an angel, and, more than that, Maes was an overprotective nag, Roy found himself conned out of the safety of his apartment, and to his niece’s graduation.

He still rather missed the point of it all, because she was _six,_ and graduation into first grade was as mandatory and easy a task could be, but- well, she was his niece, so he was proud of her all the same. He was also not surprised in the slightest that Maes was full blown sobbing with pride, and even as he sulked near the back of the room, away from all the crowds and cold hand pressed against his array, he couldn’t help a small, genuine smile at the incessant camera flashes and the promise to have his day inundated with them tomorrow.

He wouldn’t admit it to Maes, whether he asked it or not, but- the night had helped him relax and unwind. Something mundane and cheerful to focus on; even he could admit it he had a terrible habit of moping, and sometimes he really did need to just let Maes drag him out of his personal black clouds and remind him it wasn’t all rain.

He also needed Maes to laugh at his hopeless cliches, too.

Roy stood near the back and watched as the other proud parents slowly filed out, ecstatic children up on their shoulders and clutching shiny, fake diplomas with as much pride as he’d held when he’d earned his state alchemist certificate. He grinned slightly again, still watching as most of the crowds filtered out, and knew it was no coincidence that the Hughes family waited until most of it was half empty before they wandered back over in his direction, rejoining him with beaming smiles.

“Uncle Roy!” Elicia cried, lurching off to the side from her father’s shoulders to grab his hand, the only part of him she could reach from her spot above them all. “Did you see me up there, did you see me?!”

“Of course, kid. You were the best one!” He squeezed her hand before letting it go, managing to corral his features into a proud smile. “Congratulations, Elicia.”

He found himself unable to help a faint smirk as she pulled her little hands back to pull on Maes’ hair, steering the man again- he gave a little _oof!_ of surprise- back towards her mother. Roy bit his tongue to stop himself from commenting, instead watching as Maes carefully lifted Elicia up to transfer her to Gracia instead. She pouted in protest, but Maes simply rolled his shoulders and kept right on beaming. “Roy and I are gonna go bring the car around. Stay with your mother, all right? So proud of you!”

Roy waited while his friend kissed his wife, patted his daughter on the head, then started to shepherd him out of the auditorium, still beaming like a maniac. Maes did, however, roll his shoulders again, smile dissolving into a slight grimace once Elicia could no longer see them. “Think I’ve gotta stop doing that,” the man confided, grumbling. “She’s getting too old for my back to take it.”

“She’s getting too old, or... _you_ are?”

“...I’m going to bite my tongue because of the children present, and just say that any grey hairs I have are thanks to you, Mustang. And,” he chuckled, smile twitching again, “if that’s the case, and _you’re_ to blame for why I can no longer carry my daughter, then I’m afraid I’m really going to have to kill you, Roy. Such a shame, too. Elicia was really starting to like you.” Maes gave him a sidelong glance, the brazen confidence of his grin now softening into something more genuine. “Thanks for coming. I know she appreciates it.”

Roy glanced away, something about the gratitude and the concern he knew that had spawned it making him uncomfortable. “Thanks for the invite.” He shoved his cold hands into his pockets, feeling the the varied scars on his arms itch with the shiver. “I...” _Think I really needed to relax, tonight. Think I really needed something to calm me down, which you somehow picked up on days ago, and I know I make it such a pain in the ass because I'm such a bastard every time you try, but I really, really, really do appreciate it, and- and-_

“...thanks,” he mumbled again, gaze going downcast, hands burrowing even deeper into his pockets.

He meant it. He really did... no matter how terrible he was at showing it.

Maes, however, just nodded, letting it pass without comment and in fact not seeming to mind the utterly inadequate attempt at gratitude at all. Roy continued to follow him through the parking lot, still shivering slightly in the cold, and tried to focus on nothing more than the lingering cheer in the air and his plans for the rest of the night. He was going to go home, and he was going to sleep, and wake up tomorrow somehow feeling better, and that was how he was going to keep going. It was as simple as that.

He just had to take it one day at a time.

Maes glanced at him again when they reached his car, slowly fumbling for his keys with gloved hands. “Want to come over to my place for dinner? Gracia won’t mind.”

“I...” Once again, his words trailed off into nothing, dying on the cold air. Roy broke his gaze again to look down at at his hands, watching as he pulled one out of his pocket to look at the scars under the faint light. “I think I should just go home,” he said finally, swallowing. “It’s... been a long week.”

His best friend just looked quietly at him, his eyes too sharp and perceptive for his own damn good. Roy did his best to ignore him as he got in the car, just closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the seat, and was finally rewarded when Maes conceded without too much trouble.

“All right, I understand.” The engine and heating kicked on, and Roy relaxed slightly when all that followed this was a nonjudgmental, “Call me if something changes,” and that was that.

The drive back to his place passed in short order, the Hughes family all still in celebratory mode no matter the personal aura of depression he seemed to bring with him wherever he went. He kept quiet, merely listening in to Elicia’s excited chatter from the backseat, sometimes interspersed with Gracia’s soft interjections and Maes’ still unbelievably proud comments, and by the time they’d pulled up in front of his apartment building, he’d actually found himself cheered up a little as well. Damn Hughes family and their almost oppressive cheer.

Roy thanked them, congratulated Elicia once again, and gave Maes a knowing look before heading up to his apartment building. It had been a long week, and though it was only Thursday, he wasn’t ready for anything more than choking back a handful of sleeping pills and preparing himself to power through until the weekend. He figured he should really drag together a dinner of some kind, but found himself too tired to do more than contemplate it as he unlocked his door. Maes and Hawkeye would chastise him for it, sure, but- well, they would chastise him for a lot of things, lately. What they didn’t know, couldn’t hurt them.

Roy locked his door behind him, stretched, and pulled his gloves off before starting to unbutton his uniform jacket. His attentions were only on his bottle of sleeping pills- but were then immediately distracted, as he walked passed his phone, steadily blinking at him.

Seven missed calls?

He frowned. reaching out an uncertain hand. Who had called him seven times? A glance at his pocket watch told him it was a little after eight, and he frowned again. Who had called him seven times, at this time of night, and yet, left no message? It couldn’t have been the military; they would’ve given up after one or two tries to contact his adjutant instead. Hawkeye had known where he would be tonight, and she would’ve found him if the military needed him.

But, who, then? The Elric brothers? Unlikely, since he’d made it quite clear to his men that those hellions- or Ed, specifically- were never to find where he lived, or his personal phone number. Besides, if it was them, Ed would’ve broken his door down by now, not just kept calling. Normally, he’d guess Hughes, but that was obviously out of the question. But if not Hughes, or the military, or even the Elric brothers, then...

A shrill tone pierced the silence, phone suddenly lighting up as yet another call came in. It didn’t take a gambler to guess who. Scowling, Roy tore his way through the rest of his jacket’s buttons with one hand while yanking it up with the other, pressing it to his ear. “This is Colonel Mustang.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath, like a high-pitched gasp, crackle through the static. Beyond that, there was no answer.

His scowl deepened. “Who is this?”

Nothing.

“This is Colonel Mustang!” he repeated, falling back on the command and authority he’d once worn like a second skin. He wasn’t used to his questions not being answered, and his orders not being followed, and he _did not_ like it. “Identify yourself, and your reason for calling!”

Silence.

“If you don’t state your name and purpose immediately, I am going to-“

_Click._

“...hang up.”

Slowly, still scowling, Roy pulled the phone away from his ear to glare at it. Only the dial tone of a dead line answered him, and he weighed it in his hand for a moment. His first assumption was that it was just a wrong number; his second, a bunch of kids playing a rather unfunny, unoriginal prank, but- if that was the case, why call him so many times? Why hang up without a single word of explanation when they finally had gotten a hold of him?

For a moment, he considered contacting Fuery, and asking him to find out just who this mystery caller was. Then, still frowning at himself, he slammed the phone down, brushing that thought out of mind like a bothersome fly. His team already used the kid gloves with him enough, nowadays- the last thing he needed was them thinking he could be unsettled by something as innocuous as an odd phone call.

Roy forcibly put the matter out of mind and continued to undress, though his earlier good mood had been all but extinguished. He cursed Hughes. At the moment, he felt like a good, stiff drink would do him wonders... he’d be relaxed again and off to bed within a half hour. But his nosy, meddling best friend had put an end to any such coping methods a long time ago, and all he was left with was his bottle of sleeping pills and an ill temper.

Dammed overprotective nag.

With a sigh, he morosely resigned himself to yet another long, miserable night and headed towards his medicine cabinet. He avoided looking at the ugly, array-carved expanse of wall above it where there had once been a mirror. The cracked, shattered remains of it that he'd ripped down long ago because the sight of his own reflection, metal fingers and ugly scars and a brand like a collar was all it took, on his bad days, to make himself sick.

He’d said goodbye to his security deposit a long time ago, anyway.

Pills in hand, Roy had just lifted his hand up to swallow them when his phone rang for a ninth time.

What the _hell?_

“God damn-“ Dropping the handful of sweet, sweet medication, he tore back through his house to yank the phone straight back to his ear. “Whoever this is, either state your business or stop calling me! Are you aware prank calling a military officer is a criminal offense? Do you want me trace this number?” Empty threat, he still didn’t care enough to get Fuery involved in this, but- “I said to state your business, or hang up!”

For one long moment, there was nothing. The only reason he knew there was someone there at all was the faint sound of breathing. He stood still, waiting, waiting for the answer he didn’t really have high confidence was going to come, and was just about to hang up himself when the caller finally spoke to him.

“ _Is this 5-5-7-2?”_

He stopped.

...

“ _Is... is this... 5-5-7-2?”_

His blood went ice cold, and the brand on the back of his neck _burned._

The phone dropped from numb fingers. But even now, standing nearly six feet above it, limp and numb as a corpse, and mind disgustingly shattered, devastating blank, he could still hear the young, female voice cracking through the static on the floor.

“ _Are you 5-5-7-2?”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it has been quite a long while, I felt it best to leave a reminder that 5572 was Roy's "number" on his brand.
> 
> See you Friday :)


	2. Crashed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments/kudos! 
> 
> On the update schedule: now that I've had a chance to go through more of it, yes, I'll mostly be keeping to a three day update schedule. However, some chapters are pretty short, and those will be two days. There are also two others that are so short I do double updates and will post them on the same day! Basically- read the note at the end to know when the next update comes!
> 
> Also!!! If you have not read A Quiet Headstone by YAJJ yet- it's a oneshot that takes place in between Just a Number and this (you can look in my bookmarks for it!) Go! Go Forth! And again, thank you to YAJJ for writing it!
> 
> Enjoy :D

Maes had no idea something was wrong until it was half past noon, and Hawkeye found him as he was walking down to the officer’s mess.

He raised a hand in greeting when she met his eyes from down the hallway, speeding up a little to meet her headway. “Lieutenant!” he exclaimed, beaming. “Do you want to see the pictures I took of my daughter last night? She looked like an angel, I tell you- so grown up I can’t believe it, I-“

“Maybe another time, sir. Have you seen Colonel Mustang yet today?”

He blinked, the hand already moving to his wallet's stash of pictures now slowing down in confusion. Slowly, Maes shook his head, thrown off balance by the sudden change in topic, and then thrown off balance even more by her somber, flat stare and the undeniable tension in her voice with which she'd asked the question. “...No,” he said slowly, meeting her gaze as she fell into step beside him. “But I haven’t really been looking for him.”

“You were with him last night, correct?” she pressed urgently, still giving him no explanation as to what was going on. “At what time did you see him last?”

“...Little after eight. Lieutenant-“ Maes broke off, shaking his head at himself. Not here. “Lieutenant Hawkeye, this way.” Grabbing her by the elbow, he pulled her to follow him, now, departing from the slow, long group of officers also making their way towards lunch and tugged her off towards the nearest supply closet instead. People would probably talk, but- hell, Maes was pretty sure his reputation could withstand a few floating rumors about himself and the Hawk’s Eye. And he was more concerned about Roy than the office gossip at the moment, anyway.

Hawkeye seemed to understand the need for secrecy, as she didn’t protest his attempt to get them out of the way, and even stood against the door once they’d gotten inside so they’d have a warning if someone was coming. “The colonel never came into work today,” she told him flatly, not even waiting for him to ask. “We have no idea where he is.”

Maes grimaced. This... was not good. “I’d guess home?” he asked, scratching his head. “He seemed fine last night, but... I don’t know- overslept?” Though even as he said it, he knew the suggestion was a bad one. It was half past noon. One didn’t just oversleep by four plus hours. And Roy really _had_ seemed better last night; he’d been able to tell his friend was stressed this week, worse than usual, but he really had seemed a great deal more relaxed when they’d dropped him off at his apartment. “Have you-“

“-tried calling him? Yes. We’ve gotten a busy signal, every time.” Hawkeye frowned, folding her arms tightly but not moving away from the door, where she stood as a silent sentry. “I’ve been postponing sending someone to check his apartment so as not to arouse suspicion. But if he doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to have to.”

“...No. No, I’ll go. I’m Investigations; it’ll be easier for me to cook up some sort of explanation to get off base.” He bit his lip. Maes wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, or how worried he was supposed to be. On one hand, this was likely nothing. Being late for work did not mean an emergency or crisis, it just meant he was late for work. There were any number of far more likely excuses before what he and- he knew- Hawkeye, too, were worried about.

But Maes didn’t know why Roy wasn’t there. He only knew the truth of what had happened the last time his best friend hadn’t shown up for work.

Two months missing, four months assumed dead, and enough trauma, abuse, and suffering that he’d nearly ended it all himself anyway.

Maes swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Riza..." He looked to her hesitantly, a nervous sort of trepidation beginning to gather around his chest that made his stomach knot. "You don’t think-“

“No.” She shook her head decisively, cold eyes sharp in a way that merely disguised her own concern rather than eliminating it. “Colonel Mustang isn’t helpless. If someone tried had tried to attack him- even successfully- there’d be signs. That’s actually what I was checking on, before I came to find you,” she confessed reluctantly. “I was speaking with my friend from the fire department. ...Nothing.”

Maes sighed in relief, though, granted, it wasn’t a great feat to be relieved _about._ All the same, Hawkeye was right. Roy had never been a pushover, but nowadays, he was even more lethal. He had never told Maes or Hawkeye the extent that he’d carved and marked his new array into his life, but Maes had no doubt he’d even had it tattooed somewhere on himself, like Kimbley had done. And after the way Archer had gotten to him the first time, Roy no longer met _anyone_ without backup, not even other military officers. If, worst case scenario, someone really had targeted Roy, and by some miracle had subdued him, the resulting, literal firefight would’ve made the news by now.

That couldn’t be it. Roy _had_ to be safe.

But, if that was the case...

Then just where was he?

Changing his mind, an uncertain anxiety twisting in his gut, Maes pushed off the wall, already flexing his arm to feel the comforting presence of the knife sheath strapped to his forearm. An unnecessary comfort at the moment, perhaps, but a highly welcome one. “I’m going to check on him now,” he said tersely, and knew Hawkeye would excuse him being short with her because she felt the exact same way he did. “Just let me talk with Scieska for a moment, straighten things out. You hold down his fort.”

“Of course.” Hawkeye followed him out into the hallway and parted ways with him immediately, the lieutenant heading back to the colonel’s office while he headed back to his own. He watched her go down the hallway for a moment, following her deceptively calm, professional march that disguised her own fear, then just shook his head and turned his back.

Damn if, it he drove all the way over there to find Roy, perfectly and utterly fine, overslept or skipping work or- whatever the hell, but he was fine-

_Damn it, Roy._

_Please be okay._

Maes reached his office in record time, jogging inside to hurry towards his desk and sweep up the files that had been waiting for him. “Cancel anything I have in the next hour,” he ordered Scieska, not even looking at her as he rapidly organized his work for a sudden absence. “If anyone asks, I’m following a lead on the Schmidt case on the south side of town. Deflect anybody who comes looking, _especially_ General Hakuro.”

Scieska stared up at him, startled. “Of- of course, sir. Is... is something wrong?”

He pursed his lips. That was always the question with Roy, wasn’t it? _Was something wrong?_ And the answer was always the same, too.

“I don’t know.”

Maes hurried to gather his things together while Scieska started to organize the rest of the office, preparing for a few hours of deflection and distraction. He had just grabbed his coat from the back of his desk chair when his phone rang, and he grabbed for it in a rush, focusing more on shouldering his jacket than the call. “Lieutenant Colonel Hughes.”

“...Maes.”

He stopped.

“R- _Roy?”_

Oh, hell.

Maes dropped, knees shaking as he fell into his chair to bury his face in his hands. For god's _sake!_ Muting the mouthpiece for a heartbeat, he gasped, “Put a hold on all that, Scieska!” then pressed the phone back to his cheek, still breathing hard and head spinning with relief. “Roy, what the hell? Do you have any idea how worried we’ve- god, Roy, where are you? Are you all right?” Not that he really had much right to complain, only stressed for five minutes, but Hawkeye- _just- thank god you’re all right..._

“I... don’t know.”

Maes slowed, though his breaths still left him in panicked near gasps. Roy didn’t sound hurt or in distress; in fact, his quiet voice was almost... unfocused, somehow. Weak, in a manner that he wasn’t sure what to do with. Slowly, aware of Scieska’s worried eyes on him, he straightened in his seat, choosing his words carefully. “You don’t know where you are?”

“What?” Roy asked blearily, and Maes once again felt a pang of relief just to hear his voice. “No, I- I know that. I m-meant... I don’t know if I’m all right.” There was a moment of hesitation, and when he spoke again, his voice was even smaller than before. “...I think I need help, Maes.”

The urgent rise of relief, unleashed the moment he’d heard his evidently unharmed best friend’s voice on the phone, slowly retreated, leaving him vacant and almost shaking in his seat, concern clutching at him with sharp, anxious claws. Something wasn’t right about this. Roy didn’t sound hurt, but he definitely didn’t sound all right, either. “...okay,” he managed, somehow keeping his voice calm and easygoing. It wouldn’t help matters to sound as worried as he was. “I’ll come to you, then. Where are you?”

“H-here. My... my office.”

Maes stared blankly, mouth slipping open to gape from shock.

Roy was _here?_

Before he could overcome his surprise enough to figure out just what he was meant to say next, the colonel stammered a continuance of his earlier impossible words, voice still small and unfocused, weak. “I know Riza just left, to look for you. I could hear her through my door. I- she doesn’t k-know I’m here. I got here... before her. Really early. I- I don’t... Maes...”

Maes breathed out slowly, his mind racing. Roy wasn’t making much sense- hell, he didn't even sound focused enough to _make_ sense now- and he really wasn’t giving him much to go off of anyway, but he needed to figure this out, and now. If Roy was in his office, but Riza didn’t know it...

It was, he supposed, quite possible that Roy had come into work, but just beaten Hawkeye here. In fact, it worked out very well. His inner office door was locked whenever he wasn’t there; if he’d locked himself inside and not spoken to Riza, then the lieutenant would’ve reasonably assumed he just wasn’t there.

But that still left the very worrisome question of _why._

“Roy,” he said carefully, slowly getting to his feet again. “I’m on my way down to your office now. Do you... do you want Hawkeye to be there when you talk to me?” It was a hard question to ask, one that almost stuck in his throat as he fought it past the lump there. It would break Riza’s heart, if he had to tell her Roy couldn't have her there, especially after everything she’d already done for him- but with the state he was in now, whatever it was that was wrong with him, he didn’t want to risk it.

It wouldn’t have been the first time, Roy had been so bad off he couldn’t handle even one of his closest childhood friends.

His best friend was silent for several moments, breaths jerky and uneven over the phone. Finally, he stammered out, “I c-can’t talk to her right now. But I... think she needs to hear this.”

That made even less sense than everything else, and worried him even more, but right now Roy was in trouble and he was able to push away any questions for later. “All right,” he promised gently. “It’ll be just me, then. Hang on, Roy, I’ll be right over. Okay? Tell me you understand that.”

“...Ok-kay.”

Maes stayed on the line for several more seconds, and when he finally lowered his phone back down to his desk, his heart was pounding, and the only thing he knew was that something was very, very wrong.

* * *

“Roy?”

His friend didn’t answer him. All he did was continue to stare downwards at his empty desk, head in his hands, pale fingers clutched in his hair.

“...Roy?”

Still, nothing.

Slowly, gently, Maes pulled the office door shut again behind him. He locked it once more, sliding the deadbolt into place, but this did not win the sense of ease from his friend that he’d been hoping for. After several moments, when Roy had still not so much as moved, Maes pushed back his worries and proceeded forward to his desk, dragging one of the chairs around to sit by his side.

“All right,” he sighed. “What happened?”

For a second, he again got no response, giving Maes the opportunity to look over his friend. He took it instantly, urgently searching for him for any sign of injury, and found himself almost sagging with relief when he found none. He _wasn’t_ hurt... but, now that he finally was able to look at him, he was able to see that, just since last night, something really bad _had_ happened to him.

He looked exhausted, eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused over his desk, pale, unshaven face lined with tension and brow furrowed as if with a headache. His hair, too, was a mess, as if he’d dragged his hands through it over and over throughout the hours and never once revisited it with a comb. Which was very easily possible, if he’d been at work since so early this morning- but his state of dress was even more worrisome. A wrinkled white dress shirt that was almost certainly left over from yesterday, and the same could be said for his uniform pants- but his jacket and the calvary skirt were nowhere to be seen. Neither were his gloves. His messy sleeves had been pushed back to the elbow, revealing the mess of ruined arrays scarred into his arm, circles overlaying circles, symbols scratched over symbols, so many jagged white lines it looked as if his arms had been taken to task by a demented, mad artist.

Maes swallowed, his mouth dry. Roy _never_ revealed those scars. Not the ones on his arms, not the ones on his back, not the ones on his neck. Maes wasn’t sure he’d so much as seen them for months; not since he’d finally had to step in and directly force the bastard to stop getting blackout drunk as a way to "cope".

What was going _on?_

“...Roy,” he mumbled weakly, aghast.

Jerkily, his friend raised his head up. Nervously, radiating some sort of sense of devastating fear, he met his eyes.

Then he slumped down in his desk chair in a wave of shaking, anguished relief, and squeezed his eyes shut in a gasp of gratitude. “Thanks for coming,” he whispered hoarsely, and his scarred hands were shaking so badly when he reached them up to cover his face, he barely managed it.

Maes stared, his heart sinking. Roy had had panic attacks at work before, rarely- though he suspected they happened much more often than his friend called him for- but never something this bad before. And normally, he could predict when some sort of breakdown was coming... Roy thought he was good at hiding when he was having trouble, but really, he was just dreadful at it. Or Maes knew him too well. Whichever it was, breakdowns like this didn’t come out of nowhere. And, as in good spirits as he’d left Roy in last night...

Utterly lost, he bit his lip, warring with the desperate urge to force the truth out of him, because something bad _had_ to have happened to him. Patience. Roy usually responded best to a firm, unyielding stance, but when he was like this the only thing he could do was wait until he was ready to talk.

And, finally, he was.

“I’m... sorry." The apology was little more than a murmur, addressed down to his desk as he sat there, head in his hands and expression washed with a beaten fatigue that made him look almost asleep on his feet. "I didn’t intend to worry all of you. I didn’t realize that was how this would turn out until it was too late. I’m sorry. To... to Riza, too.” This last bit was mumbled under his breath, voice dwindling even smaller- and he still, the whole time, avoided Maes' eyes.

So that was how this was going to go. “It’s fine, Roy,” he said quietly. “Riza understands, and so do I.”

Roy hesitated, working his fingers together over his face. “I’m not sure what time I got here. It was early. I left my place just a couple minutes after you dropped me off. I...” He looked down at himself, at the rumpled ruin of his uniform, then ran a hand through the disaster of his hair. “I wasn’t thinking. I just had to get- get _out of there-_ and... this was the only safe place I could think of to go.”

Maes stared, his breath catching. His best friend hadn’t just gotten here early... no... “Roy,” he started, eyes widening, “did you _sleep here_ last night?”

The colonel shot him an exhausted, openly vulnerable sort of look, his tired eyes bright with a strangely painful amusement. “No. I was here, though.”

...Well, at least now he knew why he looked so exhausted.

Roy thankfully went on in his explanation without needing to be pressed, breaking his gaze again to slump even further back in his seat. “I knew I should say something when I heard Riza and the others coming in, but, I was a little too... um.” Here he hesitated again, and when he glanced back in Maes’ direction this time it was with an evaluative look, as if the colonel was measuring him up for something. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh. “Look. I’m going to show you something, and you’re going to get mad. Fine, get mad, but- later, okay? We have something else to deal with right now, and I- I’m too damn tired to deal with it now, Maes. Yell at me some other time for this, will you?”

“...All right,” he conceded guardedly, not even bothering to disguise his frown. All this was doing was serving to further worry him, and he wanted to find out why. “I’ll just- make a mental note to yell at you later, then.”

Roy watched him for several more moments, as if evaluating the truth of those words. Finally, seeing something that inspired some bare modicum of confidence, the colonel turned away to dig in a desk drawer for a moment, then swiveled back around to hand him his find.

Maes stared at it.

His gaze darkened.

“...Anti anxiety-pills,” he said. It wasn’t a question, and he turned the plastic, orange bottle over in his hand, narrowing his eyes at it. “Prescribed to- oh, man. _Crystal Glitter_ , would you look at that.”

“One of my aunt’s new hires,” Roy muttered stiffly, not looking at him. “There’s a doctor they see for off the books medication. Not usually this sort of thing, perhaps, but... it’s legal.”

“Oh? Actually, it’s not, unless you want to change your name, put on a miniskirt, and start stripping. Taking prescription medication not prescribed to you isn’t any better than something like heroin.”

“Oh for god’s sake, Maes.” Glaring, Roy shoved to his feet to stalk away, back turned while Maes suddenly re-evaluated everything that had happened since he’d found Roy in his office like this. How out of it he’d been, how pale and tired he was, the fact that he’d been here well over twelve hours but only seen it appropriate to tell him this ten minutes ago....

“You were _high.”_ Maes gaped at him, pill bottle no longer even clutched in his suddenly slack hand. “That’s why you didn’t tell anyone until now. You were waiting until you crashed.”

Roy turned back around to glare at him once again, full force. “For the love of- just shut up, Maes. You can’t even _get_ high off something like this. Did I take a tad more than I should’ve last night? Yes. Was I waiting until it wore off to tell anyone? Yes. But you can calm down now, because, really, the alternative was trying to drive myself to the hospital in the middle of the panic attack when I realized I was about to suffocate because I was so fucking terrified of my _phone._ And, additionally? You’re reacting like you walked in on me snorting a line of coke in my office, and it’s really unflattering, not to mention insulting, so just stop.”

Maes got to his feet as well, realizing their voices were getting loud enough for Hawkeye to overhear this whole damn conversation but definitely far too irritated to care. “Your aunt know about these?” he demanded, waiving the damn pill bottle in the air.

Roy looked like he had half a mind to set his hand on fire. “No, she doesn’t, and unless you’re going to run and tattle to mommy like we’re six again, she’s not going to. Now, can you actually postpone this little tantrum until later, or am I going to have to go find someone else to explain this to?”

His earlier promise returned to him like a barely noticeable nudge against the anger growing in his head. Damn it, he knew what Roy was doing. Playing this all down like it wasn’t a big deal, acting as if Maes was overreacting, blowing him off- he wasn’t going to allow it. This _was_ a big deal, and he wasn’t letting this go, no matter what the bastard said.

But Roy was also right: they had something else to deal with now.

“All right,” Maes said darkly. He met Roy’s eyes as he raised the pill bottle for him to see it, then shoved it into his pocket. “We’ll-“

“ _Hey!”_ Roy burst forward to snatch them away, stretching out in shock. “Those are mine! Give them back-“

“We’ll discuss it later. After I’ve disposed of them.” He gave his friend a hard, challenging look as he stepped out of his reach, hand clenched firmly around the bottle in his pocket. “Now, you want to tell me what got you so worked up you felt the need to take these at all?”

Roy’s glare intensified from where he stood by his door, and looking at him now, Maes could easily tell he’d spent most of the night drugged out of his mind. Not that he looked any better for it. Damn it, he was going to kill Roy for this...

After he found out just what had been so bad to make him do it in the first place.

His friend looked away from him, some of the animosity on his pale face fading only to be replaced by a shadowed, fatigued sort of upset. He shifted his weight and wrapped his arms around himself, clearly intensely wary and reluctant to say this aloud. At Roy’s obvious hesitation, some of Maes’ own anger failed him, and for the first time, he had to wonder how bad something had to be, to have driven his best friend to this state in the first place.

“I... got a phone call last night,” he admitted at last. He was trying to sound gruff and business-like, but it didn’t take a best friend to hear the undercurrent of tension lying underneath those words. “After you dropped me off at home. It was a woman. I think she had been calling me all night waiting for me to get home. I’m... afraid that I don’t know exactly what she was calling to tell me. I hung up on her before she finished her- _message."_

“...Okay,” Maes ventured nervously when Roy trailed off into silence, allowing the tale to finish incomplete. His heart lurched, looking Roy’s obvious pain and fear like this. Part of him wanted to just end the discussion here and now, just go over there and wrap his arms around him, tell him he didn’t have to say whatever was clearly so hard for him- but now was not the time for that. Slowly, forcing his voice to be gentle again, he asked, “So, what of her message did you hear before hanging up?"

Roy didn’t answer him.

He opened his mouth and shut it several times, but no words came out. He wouldn’t even look at Maes now, wide eyes planted firmly on the carpet and pale face drained of all blood. He fidgeted on the spot for several long seconds, and it was a sinking heart that he realized his hands were actually shaking, now. Maes thought of those pills in his pocket again, and suddenly found his earlier anger washed away by a swell of sympathy... maybe he really did need those after all.

Hesitantly, with one still badly trembling hand, the colonel reached up to rest a hand up on the back of his neck. He just stood there and stared at the floor, bleached of all color paralyzed on the spot almost as if he’d forgotten how to move.

On anyone else, the stance would’ve looked strange. Unexplainable.

But Maes knew what was on the back of Roy’s neck.

And the longer he just stood there and stared downwards, too shaken to speak, too shaken to so much as look him in the eye, the more he realized the horrible truth.

“Roy...” he breathed, heart lurching painfully to squeeze itself right into his throat. _“What did she say to you?_ "

There was another terrible, thick moment of silence. Roy's hand did not leave the back of his neck, nor did his gaze leave the floor. He looked, for one stricken and terrible breath, like a beaten dog cowering from its master, his tongue silenced by one too many punishments to still have the strength to speak aloud, to have the will to do anything but hide in the corner until it was over. But there was nowhere to run from the question waiting in the silence of his office, and no recourse that he had but to answer.

"She-" he started, then stopped abruptly. His voice was vanishingly small, lost in his throat, and for a splitsecond Maes wanted nothing more than to hush him quiet and pull him into his arms and push this all far away where it could never hurt him again. His face stayed sickly pale and downcast, eyes glued down to the floor, and as Maes watched he took in another unsteady breath, as if trying to steel himself. It clearly didn't even come close to working.

"She... asked who I was," he tried again. "B-but she didn't mean my name. She, um. She. ...she asked if I... was..."

He fell back into silence, already small voice trailing straight into nothing to fail him. But that hand continued moving nervously along the back of his neck- and Maes could take it no longer.

"She asked you if you were 5-5-7-2, didn't she?" he asked, as gently and warmly as he knew how.

Roy flinched so severely that it took everything Maes had not to cross the space between them and comfort him. God, some part of him already regretted saying it with every fiber of his being.

But then, gaze still averted, shoulders still hunched, and that hand still twitching uneasily along the back of his neck, the man gave him one tiny, anguished nod.

Maes’s insides twisted, and in that moment, he understood exactly what had happened to Roy, and why he was so shaken he’d found him locked in his office crashing from a panic attack.

“Roy...”

“Yeah,” his best friend grunted, voice a hoarse, exhausted croak, and dropped his hand like it was a metal weight back down to his side.

He took a hesitant step forward, but before he’d even reached out a hand to him Roy had jerked violently away, pale face twisting in a primal anger and fear that told him, more than anything else, the state that that call had left him in. Roy just stared at him for a moment, pulled away and frozen like a wounded and trapped animal- and even when he reclaimed himself, a hint of that fear forcibly pushed away by rationality, he could very easily see how close to the edge he still was.

Though it went against every instinct that he had, he lowered his hand, forcing a nod. He waited until some of the anguished panic finally faded further before relaxing himself, closing his eyes to try and think. As horrified as he was, it took Maes several seconds to find the investigations officer hiding in the back of his head. He couldn’t just be Roy’s friend right now. He could be what his friend needed later; right now, he was going to keep him safe, and that was that. “Do you-“

“-know who she is? No. No idea whatsoever.”

He sighed. “Is there anyone who-“

“-I think she could be? W-well... yeah.” He tried for an offhanded shrug, but was still shaking too badly to pull it off. “I told you, I had multiple female customers. They-“

“Don’t call them that!”

“-they are what they are, Maes,” Roy cut in coldly, voice still rough, and shut his eyes with a shudder. “They paid for a service, and I provided that service. That’s what a customer is. And yes, I had several females who paid for me. I don’t know their names. Mostly-“ His voice shook and broke, cracking over the words. “Mostly- j-just- one of those pretty blondes y-you were always telling me t-t-to marry-“

His voice cracked again, and this time his face crumpled with it, and Maes just couldn't resist any longer. His heart all but broke and his legs carried him forward on a desperate instinct, crossing the room to pull his shaken best friend into a hug. When he reached him he did not even resist, in fact seeming to almost sag a little against him and at that Maes pulled him in even tighter, anguish tightening his throat so much it hurt to breathe. He was going to kill this- whoever this was. Even if it _wasn’t_ someone who’d used Roy like that, for calling him like this out of nowhere, shaking him this much...

God, if it actually _was_ one of his- his _customers,_ though- and, fuck, Maes hated that word. He hated it so much, and he hated even more when Roy would insist on using it. He hated how blasé he tried to act about the whole thing, as if that was all it was, just a _customer_ to him. Damn it-

If it was one of those pieces of human _garbage_ that had put Roy in this state...

“I’ll be fine,” the colonel murmured. Without conviction or emotion. As empty, hollow, and vacant as a soulless corpse. “I’ll... be fine, Hughes.”

“I know,” he said quietly back, and tightened his arms around him.

_Whoever the hell did this... when I get my hands on her..._

At last, Maes took a step back, still holding his friend by the shoulders. “I’m going to talk to Sergeant Fuery,” he said firmly, leaving no room for arguments. “Maybe he’ll be able to trace the phone call back to its source. You-“

“Um... no, he won’t, actually.”

Maes stopped, heart still pounding uncomfortably fast in his chest. “...Roy?”

His best friend swallowed, throat jumping visibly. “He... ah...” He shifted his weight again, looking intensely uncomfortable and reluctant to say this. “My phone doesn’t... actually exist anymore.”

“...um...”

The colonel shifted again, still wide and exhausted eyes lowering to the floor. “I kind of- panicked, earlier. When she called me. I...” One shaking hand lifted to land against his chest, clenching the wrinkled dress shirt in a trembling fist. “...it wasn’t on purpose, but I burned my phone, Maes. As in it’s just a twisted hunk of metal, right now.” He stared even harder at the floor, and it was only because Maes knew him so well that he saw his face darken with a hint of embarrassment and shame. “I know that Fuery’s the best at what he does, but I don’t think even he can do anything with something that broken.”

Maes stared at him, again struggling just to not show the disbelief on his face. After a long moment of consideration, he realized he couldn’t even be surprised. Seeing Roy’s state right now, and knowing how much worse it had to have been last night...

His worries earlier had been right. They were just lucky they hadn’t gotten a call reporting Roy’s apartment building had caught fire.

“The busy signal,” he murmured, more to himself than to Roy. “That’s why Hawkeye couldn’t through to your apartment. Of course.” He shook his head, berating himself for not realizing it sooner. “Roy, I-“

“It was an accident,” Roy muttered suddenly, voice still small. The soft interruption was all it took to stop Maes and he swallowed instead, staring silently as his friend withdrew into himself, squeezing his eyes shut once more. Slowly, finger by finger, he unclenched his hand from his jacket to drop it down by his side, limp and slack with exhaustion. “I know it was a fucking stupid idea and makes everything a hell of a lot more difficult now. I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“Shut it.” Firmly, he pulled Roy back against him for another hug, refusing to allow him to get any further into that miserable statement. Maes calmly guided Roy back to tug him down to sit on the office couch next to him, still leaving his arms around him and holding back his curse through gritted teeth. “I know it wasn’t on purpose. Don’t worry about it.”

“But...” With a gasp, Roy suddenly jerked away again, leaning over to bury his face in his hands. Metal fingers dug against his face with a bruising force and he shook, haunted eyes staring in horror at the floor. “I fucked it up- Maes, I-“

“Didn’t I tell you to shut it? Investigations, Roy, remember? I do this all the time.” Resisting the urge to pull his hand from his face, anything to get him to stop looking so defeated, Maes left his hands in his lap as he leaned back against the couch, watching his tense friend for any sign that he was about to get more upset. “You said she called you multiple times, right? We’ll be able to talk to the switchboard operators. With any luck, someone will remember the same woman calling in with the same number over and over. We’ll at least be able to find where she was last night, okay?”

Roy hardly looked convinced, but with this, Maes knew it’d be far easier to get through to him with actions rather than words. Chest still tight with anxiety and pain, pain at just the sight of his friend like this, Maes just sat him with for several more moments before he started to push himself up to stand, hands on his hips. “I’m going to go start this investigation,” he said firmly. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle everything. I’m going to go send Fuery and Falman down to try and figure this phone call out, and Havoc and Breda to your apartment. Chances are there’ll be nothing to find, but better safe than sorry.”

It took Roy longer to evaluate the plans than he normally would, his dark eyes still wide and lit with the remains of panic. But, slowly, he thought over Maes’ words and clearly came to understand this was the best course of action, no matter how shaken by these events that he was. Finally, he nodded, still rubbing scarred and metal fingers over his face. “Right,” he murmured, sounding exhausted. “That’s good. And... and I’ll-“

“-do nothing,” Maes finished for him, planting a steady hand back on his shoulder. In his weakened state, he very easily was able to push and keep his friend back down on the sofa. “Roy, you’re in no shape to help with this and you know it.”

“But I-“

“You’re going to stay right here. If you think you can sleep, do it. Otherwise, just stay here and try to relax.” He left his hand squeezing tight on his shoulder, staring Roy down until he knew he’d gotten through to his exhausted friend. “Trust me to handle this, Roy. Remember, this is my job, and I’m good at it. Right now you don’t need to do anything except get some rest and leave this case to me.”

_Yeah. Leave it to me, so I can find this woman myself, and take care of her for doing this to my best friend._

Maes waited several moments, and knew it was only a testament to how damn _tired_ Roy was when he finally conceded. A pang of sympathy stabbed through him at the way he gave in so easily, slumping over to drop his face in his hands again. Normally, Roy would’ve spent the next hour arguing with him over this. The fact that he’d given in at all, never mind so quickly... he really hadn’t slept at all in well over twenty four hours, had he? And not only that, but he’d spent a very good portion of the night before a nervous wreck. Maes needed to get him to calm down enough to sleep, and soon, before what precious little of what remained of whatever the hell he was sustaining himself off of failed him at last and he was left with nothing at all.

“Just stay here and... try to calm down,” he said finally, cursing himself for how weak and useless those words were the moment they’d left his lips- and himself, for being unable to offer him any more comfort than that. His priority had to be finding this mystery woman, before she did something far worse than a strange phone call. Pulling his hand back from his shoulder again, Maes took another step back towards the door, jabbing a thumb behind him. “I’ll be out there with Hawkeye if you need me. I’m going to discuss security with her.”

“Wha- security?” His friend jerked his head up to stare at him again, wide-eyed. He started to push himself up off the couch, shrugging away from Maes when he jumped to keep his exhausted and unsteady friend down. “Maes, don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need-“

“You got a series of anonymous, threatening phone calls from somebody on your personal line. That’s a problem, Mustang,” he growled. “And you’re getting an extra security detail. End of discussion.”

“End of- it’s not even the start of one!” he snapped, grabbing Maes by the wrist before he could even make it a single step closer to the door. “I am not. getting. a security. detail. I will handle this _on my own._ I’m not going to run from this person like a coward, Maes!”

“And no one said you were!” he cried, exasperated. “Listen to me, this is not up for a debate! You’re getting a security detail, and tonight, you are coming home _with me._ Be _cause-“_ he glared dangerously, shutting up the next protest he could already see burning in Roy’s eyes, “where are you going to stay otherwise? Your apartment? You’re telling me you’re all thrilled to go back there right now?”

Maes knew it wasn’t a fair question to ask, and he _did_ regret it a little when the reflexive anger and something close to terror flashed through his eyes at the very idea of going back somewhere where one of those monsters could find him- but it was a point that had to be made. “Exactly,” he said, gentler this time, and continued to hold his gaze. “And you’re not staying in your office, either. You tried that last night, and look at yourself: you’re exhausted, you haven’t slept a wink, and to be honest, still look a little like you’re going to get sick.”

“No one fucking asked you, _Hughes.”_ This time Roy actually did rip away from his arm, tearing away from him for the door, and the only reason Maes got around to block him from leaving at all was his best friend was so unsteady on his feet. “I don’t need your help! Any of it! I-“ The colonel stared at him wildly, each breath leaving him in sharp, painful gasps. “I’m not- I’m- I can’t-“

“Will you sit _down._ You called me because you trusted me to handle this, Roy- tough shit if you don’t like my methods now. The question isn’t whether you’re a coward, it’s not whether or not I think you can take this woman in a fight, it’s whether or not _I’m_ comfortable with _you_ staying alone right now. The answer is no. And-“ He glared hard at Roy, again cutting off the protest before it could even get off the ground. “-and before you complain, actually think for a moment, and look at yourself, and tell me you wouldn’t be worried if you were in my shoes.”

Roy stiffened. Slowly, his dark glare colored even darker, and the colonel looked at him with such exhausted, distressed eyes for a moment Maes thought even that wasn’t going to be enough; that his friend was too tired for logic and reason and this was going to spiral into an argument he had no chance at appeasing. But the longer Maes met his stare and didn’t back down, the longer Roy was forced to actually consider what he’d said- until finally, he just bowed his head and gave in.

Swallowing his sigh of intense relief, Maes let his eyes soften, moving forward again to gently coax Roy back down to the couch. He sat down beside him again, his voice low and understanding but firm in a way he knew Roy would hear. “Here is what’s going to happen,” he said quietly, leaving a hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to send your men out to investigate while Hawkeye and I work on a security detail. You’re going to stay in here and get whatever sleep you can. If you need anything, we’ll be just out there.” He jabbed his thumb back towards the door and continued to watch Roy, who now stared very hard away from him down to his shaking, scarred, part automail hands. “Tonight, you’re coming with me so I can keep an eye on you. We’ll probably split your team so half can watch us, and half can watch your apartment to make sure this woman doesn’t show up there. Tomorrow, we’ll hold a meeting, and discuss everything we’ve learned and decide where to go from there. You’ll be in on that. You’ll help then. But for now?” He kept Roy down, and even took advantage of his lingering cloud of exhaustion to gently push, settling him back against the cushions. “The most help you’ll be to us today is you just stay in here and relax.”

He waited again, watching as common sense, reason, and fatigue slowly wore him down into one very reluctant, but accepting, best friend. Slowly, Maes moved back to stand again, heart twisting at the awkward and unnerved way he twitched on the cushions, like he couldn’t stand to sit still now but had no other choice. It hurt even worse that he was the one ordering him to do it- but he had just as little a choice as Roy did, in this. It was for his own good, he reminded himself, and finally turned his back to leave the office once and for all, and do whatever he had to do to find the woman who’d done this to his best friend.

Just as he’d unlocked the door, then turned the knob, Roy spoke up again.

“...Maes?”

He stilled, hand resting against the door. “Yeah, Roy?”

“There’s... one other thing.”

“...Okay,” he said uncertainly, battling the urge to just groan and slump with exhaustion against the door. Of course there were. It was Roy. There had to be just _one more thing._ “What is it?”

Roy hesitated. “When she called me, I didn’t hang up right away, Maes. She... she asked if I was... f-five-five-seven-two.” The words were rushed out, almost choked on he spat them out so fast, his voice cracked. “I was too stunned to say anything, but I stayed on the line. And... and just before I got myself to hung up, she- said something.” There was another short, pained moment of silence.

“...She said that she wished that I had killed her.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up on Monday! See you then!


	3. Porcupine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments/kudos!

Roy was not happy with this arrangement.

He was not happy with it at all.

And the worst part was, he had seen it coming ever since the moment that he’d picked up the phone and dialed Hughes’ number.

He sat in the Hughes guest bedroom, shoulders hunched while exhaustion and terror crawled through his brain. It was still far too early for respectable adults to consider sleep, but Maes and Gracia had taken one look at him and told him if he just wanted to go to bed, they understood. As vaguely angry with Maes as he still was, he was grateful for the concession. He’d really doubted his ability to stay in control of himself for that much longer.

His men hadn’t turned up much about this mystery caller, as of yet. They were trying to find the number this woman had used to call him with, but due to his brilliant act in destroying his phone in a fit of panic, it would take a day or two. Until they tracked her down, he’d be staying with Hughes- whether or not he was willing. Hawkeye had made that perfectly clear.

He huffed angrily, his scarred hands curling into fists and the array cut into his skin sparking with an abrupt hiss of scalding heat.

It was _ridiculous_. He was Colonel Mustang, Flame Alchemist. He’d survived one of the bloodiest wars in Amestrian history. He was a soldier, and a damn good one at that. He could take care of himself. But one phone call, from one lone, probably crazy woman, and suddenly he was being treated like he was as helpless as a _child._ He couldn’t stand it. He _hated_ that Hawkeye was hiding across the street now, watching through the Hughes’ window with a rifle scope, that first and foremost he was someone to be taken care of rather than a soldier who could act on his own...

But tonight, he was too shaken to care.

_Is this 5-5-7-2?_

He muffled another groan into his hands, sinking back into the bed, and desperately wished for this all to be over.

A tiny knock came on the door, immediately followed by it swinging open and a small shadow tip toeing inside. His best strategy really would’ve been to just to shut his eyes and feign sleep, but instinct had him scrambling to cover himself and tugging blankets up before he could just lie still, as good as announcing to the world he was awake.

Sighing to himself in irritation, Roy dropped his hands and sat up. He thanked his foresight in wearing _something,_ at least, in a home that wasn’t his, but still couldn’t help but itch for something to hide all the scars as Elicia started to blink up at him, clutching a tall glass to her chest and a big teddy bear under her arm. “Oh,” she whispered, dithering on the spot. “I thought you’d be asleep. I’m sorry.”

“...Doesn’t matter,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face again. This was another reason he hadn’t wanted to stay with the Hughes family: he _really_ did not have it in him today to put up a good front for their young daughter. “What is it, Elicia?"

She bit her lip, but continued on her tip toeing forward, lifting up the glass- which he could now see was almost full with a dark, amber liquid- to put it on the bedside table. She pointed. “Mommy and Daddy said you weren’t feeling well, so I brought you this. Mommy gives it to me when I’m sick, so you have some, too.”

Roy gave it a sniff. Ginger ale. With a weak grin, he set the glass back down and forced his face to keep in something that wasn’t as irritated or exhausted as he felt. “Thanks, but I’m afraid I’m not that kind of sick.” He slowly patted the glass with clumsy, tired fingers, listening to the faint clink of his metal ones against the material. “The gesture is still appreciated, though.”

It was, granted, a very stupid thing to say. He should’ve just been a normal damn human being, told her _thank you,_ and watched her go to leave him alone and let him finally, _finally,_ pass out in a drug-induced stupor. But Roy, in his infinite brilliance, had said something to just inspire more questions, and he mentally cursed himself even as he kept a smile on his face to watch Elicia as she stared up at him in wide-eyed concern that was so much like her father. And her mother, if he thought about it.

Damn the Hughes family. Damn them all for never having the good sense to realize when he was sulking and leave him to sulk himself to into a black, miserable, depressed death in _peace._

_All I want to do is fucking sleep._

“Adults get sick in many ways,” he finally sighed, conceding that even he really could not cook up an excuse to rudely just show an innocent, helpful child to the door. If it was Maes, yes. But, he was a gentleman, and that meant Gracia and Elicia both could get away with being kinder to him than Maes ever could, simply because there was no polite way to decline it. “We’re complicated. Sometimes we can get so worked up about things we make ourselves sick.”

“Oh.” After a moment of hesitation, Elicia hopped up to sit on the bed next to him, swinging her legs. It was too dark for him to really see her expression, but he could imagine it well. “Why do you do that?”

He bit back a sigh. This... really was not something he wanted to do. “Because adults are stupid. We overcomplicate and stress about everything, and very rarely is it something actually important. Because we’re pa... pathetic.” The word almost slurred out, grabbed at random through the haze in his fogged mind, and he groaned again. _Oh, BRILLIANT job, Roy._ The slipped sedative he'd had hidden away in his desk was kicking in more and more, he realized, a black, alluring cloud hovering at the back of his mind as the first peace he’d get since his damn phone had rang. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up this conversation for.

“Is... is this like when you stayed with us last summer?” Elicia asked hesitantly, her voice small. She swung her legs again, then pulled her stuffed bear out from under her arm to hug it tightly. “You didn’t eat much then, either. And Daddy told me then it was because you were sick, but not like a cold sick. He said it was more like when I had a bad dream... that you could be so sad and scared it was like you were hurt and there wasn’t a bandaid for it.”

A tiny, pained laugh caught in his throat, and he dropped his face to his hand again, rubbing a shaking finger over his cheek. Only Maes. “That’s... a rather apt analogy.”

“A rather what what?”

Another pained chuckle slipped out, despite his attempts to stop it. “He did a good job describing it,” he said softly instead, somehow the humiliated shame at his best friend having to talk about him like _that_ eased, though whether it was Elicia’s lack of any bad intent or the drugs that did it, he wasn’t sure. “Though I’m not very sad, this time. Just scared.”

Several moments passed. Slowly, in the expansive quiet, Roy blinked.

Had he just admitted being scared? Aloud? To a _child?_

 _..._ yes, it most definitely was the drugs.

Elicia looked at him hesitantly, the unease written in her expression enough to make him, even in his addled state, feel bad about dumping his troubles off on a little kid. “That’s another thing adults do,” he confided quietly, dropping his heavy hands to lean his heavy head back against the wall. “We get scared about things that we have no reason to be. And... often not about things, that we probably should be.”

“Oh,” she said again. There was a short silence, one that Roy figured he probably would find uncomfortable, if he wasn’t so close to falling asleep in the middle of a conversation. “You shouldn’t do that.”

Roy glanced absently down at her, and once again, he found his features melting into a soft, genuine attempt at a smile. “...Probably not," he admitted, chuckling quietly. "Probably not, no.”

But life was just not that simple.

Except, to Elicia, it was- proven when she just shook her head at him, like that was all it took, just an easy denial, and gave him a big, child’s smile. “There’s nothing to be afraid of here, Uncle Roy!” she proclaimed, beaming away. “Daddy says so. He says as long as I’m at home, there’s nothing to be afraid of, because he’ll protect me. He’ll protect you, too. He says he protects all of his friends.”

Another tired laugh stumbled out. “Your father would protect a fly from a spider’s web, if it fed him a sad enough sob story.” The words continued to fumble in his mind, something about how Maes wasn’t protective, he was _over_ protective, which wasn’t a good thing- but he wasn’t quite coherent enough to manage it. “He’d also hug a cactus for the same reason. And... you should still listen to him, because he’s a much better person than I am.”

“Daddy says you’re a lot nicer than you act,” Elicia returned promptly, so promptly he started. “You just hide it. Like a porcupine.”

“...A porcupine.”

“A porcupine!” she said again, smiling up at him with such stubborn insistence it had clearly been inherited directly from her father. “You’re all sharp and prickly on the outside. But that’s just to protect yourself, cause you’re secretly soft and squishy on the inside.”

_...It is definitely not the drugs that’s making me find that weird._

“Maes,” he sighed. Then he sighed it again. _“Maes.”_ He scrubbed a cold hand over his face, fighting the rise of exhausted, drugged anger. “That doesn’t even count as a pun, you unbelievable shi- jerk, that’s just you being stupid! You are such a... _god.”_ He wasn’t even sure _why_ he found the comment so annoying, but he did. “I take it back, Elicia. Your father is rude, and you should take no lessons from him. You shouldn’t talk about people behind their backs.”

“He says he has to talk about you behind your back. You don’t talk to his face.”

“You-...” He stared down at her, at her innocent, unyielding grin and her big, innocent eyes. He knew exactly who had taught her to interrogate so cheerfully with a smile on her face. _Maes Hughes, die._ “You’ve... just got an answer for everything, don’t you.”

She blinked up at him, still so innocently. “Daddy said I always should.”

“...he would.” Some days, he hated his best friend. Tonight, held hostage in his apartment, trapped under watchful eyes, and now, apparently, forced to be subjected to their daughter who gave him no choice but to cheer up, was one of those times.

He desperately had not wanted to cheer up tonight. Some days, he just needed to let himself give in to the black, oppressive weight of memories and pain, and given what had happened these past two days, he’d felt more than entitled to lock himself away and sulk until he could face the world. Maes, even, had enabled it, though this was normally the kind of behavior he tried to browbeat out of him. Even Maes had let him crawl away to lick his wounds in private tonight- but it seemed his daughter had learned something else from him, too, and it was his ability to never leave well enough alone.

Because as exhausted and shaken as he still was, he couldn’t help a small, weak smile as he wrapped his hands around Elicia’s sides, lifted her up, and sat her down on her feet in front of him to leave the bed to himself once again. “The gesture is appreciated,” he repeated gently, tilting his head in the direction of the glass of ginger ale. “As is the... pep talk. However, I really think it’s time for me to get some sleep now. If for no reason than I know your parents told you to leave me alone, and I don’t want you to get into trouble when you were only trying to help.”

It was a rebuke as gentle as he could make it, and something in him gave with relief when Elicia took it without protest. She gave him a hug, clearly as a goodbye, and tiptoed an inch back-

And then, hesitated.

“...Uncle Roy?”

His heavy lidded eyes dragged up past another tired blink, just barely anchoring himself to consciousness. “Yeah?” he grunted, really just too tired for a facade any longer.

Elicia hesitated again.

“...you shouldn’t be scared,” she said again, shyly and quietly sad. “Last time you were, it made Daddy sad, too. And you really shouldn’t be, you know. He’ll keep you safe.”

“...I know he will.”

His niece smiled again, reaching up to take the unnecessary glass of ginger ale down from the bedside table to bring it with her when she left. Then, starting again, she adjusted her grip on it to hold it in one hand, handing her stuffed bear to him with the other. She passed it over reverently, and with a longing glance that told him just how heavy the gesture was to her, didn’t let go even when the thing sat in his lap, staring at him as if this was a moment of the gravest importance. “You can take him while you’re here.”

Well, it may have been a gesture of grave importance to _Elicia,_ but, once again, Roy was relatively sure it wasn’t the drugs, that left him a little unsure of what exactly was going on. “That’s- quite kind of you,” he landed on at last, as opposed to a simpler _thank you_ and a more honest _um, okay?_ “But you don’t have to-“

“No, it’s for _you_ right now.” She stood up on her toes to pull on his hands, wrapping his arms around the toy, making him hug it; she didn’t even flinch when her skin touched his cold, metal, unnatural fingers, and some of the tension lingering in his shoulders dissolved a little more. “Mommy made him for me a while ago. My parents both said it could be something for me to hold at night, if I had a bad dream or it was storming really bad or I was scared of something, so... so I want you to have him for tonight.” She hesitated, still holding his arms around the bear in a hug and gripping one of its stuffed hands, as if she didn’t want to let it go. “You... you can have him. He’ll make you feel better. So you can have him tonight.”

His eyes softened.

Maes really was right. His daughter was an angel.

Carefully, with just as much gravity as Elicia had given him the bear, he hugged the thing to his chest with one arm and rested a hand on her head. “I’ll take very good care of him,” he promised quietly, and found himself swallowing a new lump in his throat.

He waited for Elicia to leave, thankfully shutting the door behind her, to finally succumb to the sedative haze building and building at the back of his mind. He huddled under the blankets, pressing himself against the wall, hiding at last from the fear that had been crawling under his skin and not letting him rest for so long now, tired eyes sliding shut and scarred hands hugging the sheets to him.

Elicia’s bear was positioned, perfectly neat and precise, on the nightstand behind him.

* * *

Roy’s staff, Maes determined, were all godsends.

He sat in his kitchen, a little past nine in the morning, with Hawkeye across from him and a freshly delivered file in front of him. Despite the fact that it was the weekend, and rather early at that, she sat there in full uniform, and he knew Havoc was camped out on a rooftop across the street while Breda stood guard by his front door. Falman was keeping an eye still on Roy’s empty apartment, and Fuery was, after having worked until dawn to get them this file, hopefully asleep.

They’d found the woman who’d called him.

“Melissa,” he said slowly, wrapping both his hands around his coffee mug. The warmth seeped into his skin, but he drew very little comfort from it. “Melissa Weber.”

Fuery had finally found the address the call had originated from. And, again, because they were all godsends, the sergeant had researched beyond that, and looked into military records. They only had one person living there: a twenty-six year old woman with no criminal history, or anything else that might give cause for worry.

It was no longer a mystery, however, why she had called Roy.

Melissa Weber was one of thirty-six others that had been rescued with him, the day Maes had left to take down a sex trafficking ring and returned home with his best friend.

“I think we can call off the security detail,” Hawkeye said at last, her voice a low, quiet intrusion into the otherwise uncomfortable silence.

Maes frowned. “There’s no need for anything hasty...”

“I’d disagree that it’s hasty.” The sniper sat back in her seat, pulling the file over to her side so she could examine it for herself, though Maes doubted she could’ve missed anything pertinent the first time. “If you think about it, the call itself wasn’t necessarily threatening. The colonel hung up before she could really say much of anything. We all just jumped to conclusions.”

“And the fact that she told him that she wished he had _killed_ her?”

“...To be fair, Lieutenant Colonel, that’s not exactly a threat either.” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not sure what it is, but it’s not a threat.”

Maes sighed, settling back in his seat as well. She did make a good point, and part of him was all too eager to accept her assessment that this woman wasn’t a threat. He didn’t want Roy to be in danger, of course, and based off how his best friend had reacted, Roy needed this to be over sooner rather than later. But at the time, he was _extremely_ reluctant to call this all off as an overreaction... Roy called it overprotective, and maybe it was- but he wasn’t about to sit here and watch _anything_ happen to him, no mater how minute the chance was. “Roy had no idea what she meant by that, either. But he didn’t know her connection with him when I asked him... maybe there is something he might be able to tell us. All the same, I’d rather not call off the security detail until we find out just why the hell she called him like that.”

Hawkeye nodded briskly. “Agreed.” She glanced down at the file again, running a hand down the sparse information the military had collected on her. “There’s also the question of why now? Why wait seven months to contact him? And why did she have to _ask_ him if he was... that number?” The last two words were weak, said through a shudder and with an obvious wince of distress, one that Maes shared. There was simply no way to discuss that terrible brand in polite conversation. “She obviously knew that was who he was; why else would she have called him?”

“I have no idea,” he sighed, nails digging into his fists as he clenched them in his lap. “Maybe she saw him somewhere, recognized him, but wasn’t sure? Or- god, I don’t know, Hawkeye...” He trailed off with a groan, simply scowling into his coffee rather than attempting to finish this pathetic attempt at an explanation instead. From behind him, Gracia reached out a hand to squeeze his shoulder, clearly hoping to loosen him up, but he doubted he’d find anything like a sense of peace again until this situation had been dealt with. Whether that woman had intended to provoke this kind of response or not, he couldn’t help but be furious with her. She’d scared the hell out of him- and out of Roy, whether he would admit that or not. As little sense as that call made, and even now, now that he understood how likely it was that this all was just a misunderstanding-

Damn it, how could she have called him like that? _Said that_ to him?! Of all people in the world, she had to be one of the few who would understand exactly how that would feel!

And that ending comment... saying she’d wished Roy had killed her...

Maes still had no idea what to make of that. He suspected no one possibly could, except for Roy and Melissa themselves.

“Oh!” Gracia started suddenly, and he raised his head tiredly just in time to see his wife hurry to join him at the table. “I’m sorry, I know I don’t know much about the situation, but, if you’re wondering how someone might’ve recognized Roy this week, I might have an answer?”

Maes and Hawkeye both blinked, looking at her in surprise. “All ears, honey,” he said after a moment, sharing Hawkeye’s hope, and Gracia nodded.

“I was talking with my friend down at the hospital, just two days ago. She mentioned something about... hang on...” She started to flip through yesterday’s paper, which was still on the table. Her motions were unhurried, and she moved on past the front page headlines while Maes was left in confusion until she finally found what she was looking for. “Yes, here! I thought so- my friend mentioned something about seeing you in the paper, so I just thought- I wondered if it might not have been just you. And I was right. Look.” She turned the newspaper around for them both to see.

Maes’ eyes widened.

It was an article about the arrests he and Roy had made earlier that week. He only barely remembered speaking with reporters at the time; compared with the more major press conferences and reports of his career, it had hardly registered at the time. He knew Roy had probably forgotten about it, too. And the article itself was nothing, just a little blurb about the arrests- and a picture.

Of him, and, most importantly, Roy.

Maes slowly raised his eyes to Hawkeye, his mind racing. “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” he rushed, thinking aloud now, the words tumbling out rapidly as he finally understood something going on with this case, and his best friend. “This story ran two days ago- the day Roy got that call. And she could’ve...” He shook his head again, eyes widening. “She...”

“The colonel’s personal phone number is publicly listed,” Hawkeye said, stricken with the same bolt of clarity as he had bene. “She could’ve seen him in the paper, and gotten his name- looked up his number from there.”

“I don’t think... Lieutenant- my god, remember what Roy told us she said?” He stared at her, finally, _finally_ understanding. “She _asked_ him if he was- was 5-5-7-2.” He swallowed thickly, hating the disgusting taste those words left in his mouth just as much as Hawkeye had. “She wasn’t sure. She asked him if that was who he was. That’s... that’s it. She didn’t know his name until she saw him in the paper and- and recognized him. That’s why she’s contacting him now; she had no way to before!”

It was so obvious, in retrospect, so unbelievably obvious he couldn’t believe he hadn’t put any of these pieces together before. As much as it made his stomach churn to remember back to horrendous state they’d found his best friend in- god, he remembered it very well. He remembered his best friend _begging_ them to call him anything other than his name. He remembered months- _months!-_ of him so gently taking care of his friend, protecting him, comforting him until he’d finally gotten Roy to understand and believe he was safe enough to bear it.

It wasn’t surprising at all that this Roy had never told this woman his real name.

Across from him, noticeably less stressed but no less concerned, Hawkeye raised a hand as she looked back down at Melissa Weber’s file. “It’s a good hypothesis, but I still want to know why she called him like that. It clearly wasn’t spur of the moment... she went to the trouble of looking his number up, then called him _nine times_ in the course of one day. She clearly has something she wanted to say.” She tapped her fingers along the table as she read, eyes narrowed. “I don’t want Colonel Mustang talking to this woman until we’re absolutely sure she means him no harm.”

Maes shuddered at the very idea of it. “God, no.” Roy was already in enough of a state as it was- hell no. _Hell no_ was he talking to her. “Of course not. No.” He paused again, thinking it all over, both this new mess of a situation and his best friend, hopefully still asleep back in his guest bedroom. “I say we both go over there ourselves, and see what she has to say. Roy won’t hear it unless we think it’s all right.” And, hell, he knew Roy would _kill_ him- would probably kill him for even thinking of that as an appropriate course of action, never mind committing to it like this- but he didn’t care. He’d seen Roy suffer through enough. He’d seen him suffer through enough at the hands of this woman alone. He wasn’t about to stand by to watch him get hurt again, not when it was something he could prevent.

Gracia spoke up uncertainly, face shadowed with worry. “If you want, you two speak with her today, and I’ll look after Roy. I... wouldn’t advise telling him this is your plan, though.”

Maes exchanged another look with Hawkeye, this one worried. This time, words weren’t even needed: they both knew there was no scenario in which telling Roy their plan would end well. With a grim nod, he planted his hands down on the table, starting to stand. “Gracia, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you so much, that would be-“

“Uh-uh. Sit down, Maes Hughes!”

“Ack- Gracia!”

But his protests came too late to stop her from tugging down on his arms, unbalancing him and planting him back in his seat before he could so much as blink. Gracia pushed her finger at his face, eyes flashing dangerously as he was planted back down at the table. “You’re not going anywhere like this! After what she’s been through, I will not have you barging into her home to interrogate her, as angry as you are now. You’re staying here until you calm down, Maes, end of discussion.”

“I- Gracia-“

“ _End_ of _discussion.”_ She planted her hands on his, her grip and gaze unyielding. “Maes, you just think about how would you react if someone marched up to Roy and treated him like you’re planning to treat this woman right now.”

...

Damn it.

“...You’re a wonderful woman," he sighed quietly, slumping to all but bury his face into one of his hands. "You know that, right, Gracia?”

When he caved, she smiled at him, releasing his hands to gently wrap an arm around his shoulders instead. “And you’re a wonderful man. You just need someone to remind you of that, every once and a while.”

God, Gracia was everything he needed. His friends complained about how perfect he claimed she was- well, this was why. His wife was just what he needed to keep him calm and down to earth, even in a situation like this.

Hawkeye smiled weakly at them both, her own features softening. She clearly was just as grateful for Gracia right now as he was, though far less vocal about it. She knew they both needed to stay behind a moment and cool off before they charged off, guns blazing. They were both protective of Roy... to a fault. The problem with this was illustrated quite well in situations like this- and in Roy’s annoyance, every time he had to remind them he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

“How is Colonel Mustang, anyway?” Hawkeye asked quietly, wrapping her hands around her own coffee mug. “When he left yesterday, he looked... awful.”

Maes grimaced. Awful was an understatement, to say the least. “I’m pretty sure he felt awful,” he murmured, though now without a glance over his shoulder to ensure the colonel truly was nowhere in earshot. “We swung by his place last night, so he could pick up a few things, but once we got here he went straight to bed. Didn’t even eat anything.” He shrugged, frowning down at the table. He hadn’t been happy about it, but knew just as well as anyone how sick nerves could make you feel. “Hopefully he actually got some sleep. I never heard him moving around, at any rate.”

“I didn’t, either,” Gracia murmured. “I’m hoping he feels better today... regardless, I think you two should be gone before he wakes up. Which should be soon?” She glanced at her watch, biting her lip. “No matter how tired he was, sleeping for twelve hours isn’t normal.”

“Good thing I didn’t sleep that long, then.”

All three of them jumped.

Maes jerked up from the table first, half-standing in alarm to swivel around and stare at his best friend. Because, sure enough, there stood Roy, half-hidden around the corner, just as pale and drawn as the night before. He still looked a little tired, dark circles almost permanently bruised under his eyes and a slight hollow in his cheeks, but compared to the shaken man he’d brought him last night, miles better. His black eyes were unfathomable now, rather than stricken or hostile, as cold as the mask of the colonel he’d clung to for years, and he stood there in full uniform, decked out perfectly from head to toe just minus his boots. He looked- as well as Roy ever did, nowadays, and also so out of place he’d nearly had a heart attack.

“You- fuck, Roy-“ he gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “What’s wrong with you? You trying to scare us all to death?”

“No.” His friend finally slipped fully into view, marching to the table to glare at them all, pale and stiff with tension. “You, however, are hiding things from me.”

Hawkeye was standing before he was, hand raised slightly as if to ward her superior off with this alone. “Colonel Mustang, we’re only acting for your own-“

“I order you to stand down. _All_ of you.” Roy’s dark eyes landed on him in particular, passing him over for just a second as he smoothly stepped around Hawkeye, treating her like she didn’t even exist, was just an inanimate pillar in his path. He plucked the file up from the table to carelessly flip it open, perusing it like he might his dullest stack of paperwork. “Melissa Weber,” he drawled. “I see. I see. Ah... this is why she was interested in me. And-“ He touched a hand to the still open newspaper on the table, smoothly pivoting it around so he could see the article for himself. “-this would be how she recognized me. Interesting.” His gaze was utterly unreadable, still calmly darting from the file to the paper and back. “I don’t recognize the name,” he said coolly. “Perhaps if I saw a picture.”

Recovering from his shock at last, because he knew _damn_ well what Roy was doing, Maes stood fully as well, folding his arms in front of Roy. “That’s nice,” he snapped. “You’re still not coming with us to meet her.”

Roy closed his eyes. He looked very, very tired, and pained, and resigned, and a shadow passed over his face as he spoke, voice nothing but a frosty murmur. “I believe I gave you an order to stand down, Lieutenant Colonel.”

“That’s nice,” he repeated coldly. “It’s also not your call. You’re not coming with us, and that’s that. If you want for me to make it an order, I will- I’m running your security detail with Hawkeye right now, and that means we can give you orders that you _must_ follow, no matter your rank.”

“A security detail? A security detail that I don’t _need?”_

“Once again, that’s not your call, Roy.”

“You-“ Muttering something obscene under his breath, Roy took a step back, eyes flaring with a livid, almost poisonous light. “Do I have to remind you all that I’m not a helpless child? Not defenseless?! If this woman was truly so dangerous I couldn’t survive a simple meeting with her, you two wouldn’t stand a chance!”

“Touching. You’re still not going.”

“ _Maes-“_

“Both of you, stop!” Hawkeye stepped in between them, her eyes flashing dangerously with a warning that wasn’t just for Roy. “You’re just arguing because you’re angry with each other. That’s _not_ helpful, and you should both already know that.”

“If he’d just quit treating me like a child-“

“You’re not coming with us, Roy, and that’s final!”

“I said, _stop!”_ Hawkeye pushed them both apart, hard stare still jumping inbetween them as she ousted them both from command just like that. “Colonel Mustang, you know nothing about this woman. You admitted yourself you don’t know why she called you or what she meant. For all you know, it wasn’t even really her that called you- it could be terrorists, rebels, insurgents, anyone! Someone who wants to get you out to her house without your defenses!”

Roy glared in wide-eyed disbelief, now almost gasping. “Are you serious, Hawkeye? Are you actually trying to _justify-“_

“I know the chances of this are minuscule. But my job is to protect you from _everything,_ not just the most likely threat.” She paused, leveling her gaze on him in that traditional Hawkeye stare that had forced even generals into following her orders. “Colonel Mustang, I’m not being overprotective. I’m performing my duty as your bodyguard. You are going to remain here while Lieutenant Colonel Hughes and I evaluate this threat. If we determine there is no threat, then, and only then, will we allow you to meet with her yourself. Until then, you are going to stop overreacting and allow us to do our jobs.”

Roy’s incensed eyes widened again, gasping hard as he stared between the two of them. He clearly hated this, the turn the discussion had taken, being ganged up on, everything- but while he’d argue with Maes until both were blue in the face, Hawkeye was different. Hawkeye couldn’t be argued with, because when she made a stand and backed it up with her gun, she wasn’t joking. Hawkeye had a way about her that brokered no fools or resistance, and not even her colonel could fight her on it.

There would be hell to pay later, but they would get their way now.

With a near growl, Roy finally just slammed the file back down on the table, turning his back on them with clenched fists and livid eyes. “I am _not_ helpless,” he hissed, a black anger writhing through the words just under his breath, and at the quiet, almost anguished vulnerability that lay underneath the declaration, his heart clenched.

“Roy...”

“Go to hell,” he snapped. The colonel started to walk away, his movements so stiff with restrained anger it hurt to see. “Enjoy protecting me, if that’s what you insist on calling this. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Roy!” Gracia cried, standing as well. “Roy, wait, at least eat something-“

“I’m not hungry.”

Maes glared at his retreating back, alternatively still angry with him and now sympathetic, wishing there was a way to do this without making his already vulnerable best friend feel like this. He winced at the sound of a door being wrenched back to shut, not a slam but something close to it, and felt his insides twist with regret.

This was not going to end well.

“I’ll speak with him later, Gracia,” he sighed, slipping his glasses off to rub a hand over his eyes. “He can’t talk to you like that.”

“He’s upset right now,” she told him without missing a beat, looking after their houseguest. “I understand.”

“Still...”

She just shrugged, clearly not as bothered by any of it as Maes was. Maes sighed, lowering his gaze back down to the new mess of the table. His glasses were still in his hand, leaving the small print of the papers unreadable, but he found himself just too tired and stressed to care.

This was just going to be painful, from start to end.

“I’m not done with you, either, sir,” Hawkeye said at last, but the quiet strain in her voice broke her usual attempt at a professional facade. “Why are you arguing with him like that? You had to know it wouldn’t end well.”

“...You saw him. He was being unreasonable-“

“Because you provoked him. You- what’s going on with the two of you, lately? He barely even looked at you when you two left last night...”

Maes grimaced, swallowing his offhanded reply that it was nothing. He hadn’t had a chance to really talk with Roy, with everything that had been going on, but he suspected his best friend’s demeanor wasn’t just a result of that call.

The pill bottle he’d taken from Roy, kept quiet from both Hawkeye and his wife, weighed heavily in the back of his mind, left behind in his uniform pockets, and Maes swallowed.

Roy hadn’t been happy with him, taking them like that. And he hadn’t been happy with Roy for taking them in the first place. On one hand, he could almost understand Roy using his sisters to get medication like that illegally. Military officers couldn’t take psychiatric medication, and he’d be up for serious consequences if any of his superiors ever found out.

But Maes seriously doubted that was the only reason he hadn’t found out before now.

There were two ways to use medication like that: responsibly, and as prescribed by a doctor, or wildly irresponsibly, and bordering on addiction. And given Roy’s past with alcohol, and all the secrecy concerning these pills now, Maes had a sinking suspicion which one it was.

So far, with everything that had happened, he hadn’t yet had the chance to discuss it with him. But he _was_ mad as all hell about it, and knew Roy was just as angry at him for confiscating it. Not to mention, if he’d been taking it as often as he feared he had, he’d probably be going into withdrawal right now... it was no wonder Roy had been practically begging for an argument.

One he was definitely going to get, as soon as they’d resolved the question of Melissa Weber, and why the hell she had called Roy.

“It’s a long story,” he declared, starting it and ending it just like that. “Roy and I have just been arguing a lot, lately. It’s nothing.” Annoyed at his friend or not, he knew this was also a matter of privacy, and Roy would _rightfully_ be angry at him, this time, if he told Riza or even his wife about it. “I’ll... we’ll talk. But I want to settle this case first.” He planted a hand down on Melissa’s folder, glancing between the two women. “Let’s just go see what she has to say, Lieutenant.”

Hawkeye paused, watching him warily. It was clear she suspected more than she had said, and Gracia did, too- but the lieutenant’s focus was going to remain on the immediate threat. She was silent for several moments, simply appraising him with sharp eyes that he sat through unflinchingly, until, finally, she graced him with a single, short nod. “Yes, sir.”

They’d deal with Roy later. Right now, they had to deal with the person who’d scared the hell out of him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update on Thursday; hope I'll see you then!


	4. I said, "No"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments/kudos!!!

Melissa Weber lived across town, a twenty minute drive. Maes took the wheel, allowing silence to dominate the car as he drove, the lieutenant silently continuing to read over the file in the passenger’s seat. Neither spoke, or knew what to say.

Maes had tried to talk to Roy again before they’d left, knocking on his door, but the colonel hadn’t responded. Either he’d already been asleep again, like he’d said, or he was being ignored. Maes fiercely hoped it was the former. He doubted Roy was angry enough to respond with such a juvenile, petty manner as the silent treatment, but if he was, it was going to make getting through to him later that much more difficult.

The drive passed slowly, Maes trying very hard to focus on the road and only it. Hopefully, this would all be shown to be an overreaction, and by the end of the day, he’d be able to sit down and actually talk- _talk,_ not argue- to Roy about this. And if not...

Well, Maes didn’t want to think about any number of the ways this could end badly.

Finally, he turned onto the final street and cleared his throat, easing up on the gas. “We’re here, Lieutenant.”

“All right.” Hawkeye glanced at him, waiting as they pulled up to the house and he parked along the curb. “Let’s figure out what we’re going to say to her before we barge in, sir. Remember what your wife said... we really shouldn’t make a point out of frightening her.” She flipped through another page of the file, frowning at it.

“Right. Of course.” He turned the car off, rubbing a tired hand along his face. “So... how should we go about this, then?”

“If I may offer a suggestion?”

And for the second time in one day, Maes nearly had a heart attack because of his best friend.

He jumped, jumped so badly his fist hit the horn and a shrill, screeching blast from the car pierced through his skull. Next to him, the unshakeable sniper jumped as well, lurching forwards in her seat while Maes yanked around, a shaking hand pressed to his heart in disbelief.

From the backseat, hidden on the floor underneath his long black coat, and peaking out from one very distinctly shaped lump, was Roy.

Roy smiled.

_The_ _**fuck-** _

“Roy!”

Calmly, the colonel unfurled, pushing past his coat to stretch out of the little ball he must’ve been hiding in for the past twenty minutes. “Hello,” he greeted warmly, radiating one of the smuggest airs of victory Maes had ever seen in his life. Still unbelievably calm, Roy pushed open the car door, moving to stand outside and leave them both alone, shocked, and gaping, in the car.

For fuck’s sake.

“ _Sir!”_ Hawkeye almost shouted, on her feet in an instant and slamming her door shut after her. “What are you-“

“Next time you station Lieutenant Havoc to watch the fire escape, and me, make sure his roof is clear of anything flammable. It may have only taken him a minute to put out the fire, but by then I was already in the car.” He paused for a moment, still leaning back against the car and even smirking now, the most satisfied he’d seen his friend in days. “Don’t reprimand him too harshly, Lieutenant. If there were actually assassins gunning for me, it’d be an inexcusable breach of protocol- but we both know there really was no merit behind this security detail, don’t we?”

Though the words had been only to Hawkeye, she was not the only one gaping.

“ _Roy,”_ Maes started, glaring. He couldn’t believe this. “I thought we made it clear you were to _stay behind,_ and _wait.”_

“Yes. You made it clear that was your expectation,” he said coldly, folding his arms tightly over his chest. “I never said that I would follow it.”

“Sir-“

“You’ve both told me how you think things are going to go. Now I’m going to tell _you_ how things will _actually_ go.” He glanced between the two of them, dark eyes steady and... almost dangerous. His pale features were utterly unreadable but from the look in his eyes, and the chill in his voice, they could both tell just how angry he was. “I’m going to accompany you inside to meet this woman, and see what she has to say. You’re going to let me, and not overreact like you’ve been doing this entire time. ...Or, you’re going to have arrest me, and throw me back in the car like a common criminal while you two do it yourselves." He folded his arms firmly, settling back against the car in a clear as day display of his own stubbornness and the rock and the hard place he had set up around them. "Your choice.”

Maes stared at Roy, then back to Hawkeye, completely at a loss for words. He knew Roy hadn’t been happy with how things were turning out, but to have responded like _this..._ damn it, now he understood why Roy had remained in hiding until they’d reached Melissa’s home. It was too late for him to just turn the car around, too late for him to just drive him back home. It was too late for him to handle this at all, because there was a line, and actually handcuffing Roy and locking him back in the car would definitely be crossing it. And Roy had known that.

But this was crossing a line, too.

“Roy,” he sighed at last, planting a hand on his shoulder to gently push him back against the car. “Listen to us. I know you don’t like this, but we’re really doing this for your own good. We’re trying to help you. Just let us-“

“I said _no,_ Maes.”

He exchanged another worried look with Hawkeye, biting his lip. Whatever the reason, Roy was committed to this. In a way, some part of this was actually intensely relieving, almost breathlessly so, to see- it was extremely hard to get his best friend to take a stand for himself anymore, almost impossible for him to actually just say no when it was obvious he wanted nothing more than for something to stop. He’d spent so long waiting to see his friend actually stand up for himself again- he didn’t want to shove him back down now that he finally had...

Maes just really wished it had come as a result of anything other than this.

“...Fine.” He glared at Roy, and kept on glaring even when Roy didn’t so much as sigh with relief at finally winning this little argument. “Fine. You get your way, Mustang. But after this is over?” He poked him in the chest, hard. “You and I are going to have words.”

Hawkeye stepped forward as well, standing almost toe to toe with her superior, and far more cold and demanding than Maes ever could manage on his own. “As are you and I.” She glowered, almost dangerously so. “In addition, it now seems prudent to remind you of the same thing Mrs. Hughes told the lieutenant colonel. Remember? You _were_ eavesdropping, after all; I’m sure you remember, sir.”

Roy’s scowl deepened even further; Maes knew if it had been him standing that close, he already would’ve been shoved away. “I think I can handle a simple interview without frightening this woman, Lieutenant.”

“You should hope that you can.” Still glaring, Hawkeye took a small step back, just small enough to no longer being forcing him back against the car with her presence alone, and raised the file. “Because I actually found something else, on the ride over here- something you both should know before we go inside.” She flipped back to the end of the file again, but her eyes never left her superior’s. “According to this, Melissa is eight months pregnant.”

Maes stiffened.

Roy, finally, blinked as well, the open hostility that was getting so familiar on his face disappearing, dissolving instantly into open surprise. He opened his mouth, then shut it, still staring at Hawkeye, but no longer in a glare or a demand. Abruptly, he snatched the folder away from her to read it for himself, and Maes slowly stumbled to stand back against the car, releasing out a long, shaking breath to force himself to calm down.

Eight months pregnant.

But they'd... only been rescued seven months ago...

_My god._

Slowly, Roy shut the folder with one shaking hand. There was still no sign of the earlier animosity in his dark, wide eyes. “...I can’t believe she kept it,” he murmured after several moments, voice almost empty with shock. He had clearly done the math as well, and come to exact same, horrible conclusion that he had.

Maes couldn’t believe it, either. Abortion was illegal in Amestris, but there were doctors one could still go, pills one could take, and considering the circumstances... “What’s that even doing in her file?” he asked hoarsely, shuddering. “That’s none of the military’s business.”

Roy glanced back down at the folder. He hugged himself loosely, wrapping his arms slowly around his stomach like a protective shield between himself and the world. “It was with the results of the medical exam she got, upon being rescued. There’s a note that the military’s been following up with her... they have an interest in the baby’s paternity. For possible evidence, in any ongoing criminal cases.” He went quiet for a moment, still staring down at the folder with narrowed eyes.

Then, calmly, he withdrew a single sheet of paper from its confines, crinkling it in one tight fist. “This is none of the military’s business,” he said softly, repeating just what Maes had said. “Lieutenant, this folder is a copy, right? See to it that this information is removed from the original, as well. I don’t want anyone following up with her again.”

Hawkeye nodded without hesitation. It wouldn’t have been the first illegal order she’d followed for more than the right reasons, he knew, and Maes sighed as he watched his friend set the small paper ball in his fist alight. It crumbled to ash almost immediately, so precisely his hands weren’t even burned, and Roy calmly turned his palm over to spill it away on the ground, crushing it under his foot. His- still socked foot, Maes realized; his friend must not have even stopped to put his boots on before scaling down the fire escape.

“I think you now understand,” the lieutenant said quietly to them, taking a few steps back to begin leading them up the walkway. “The last thing you two need to be doing is bursting in yelling at a heavily pregnant rape victim.”

Maes winced at the insinuation, insides twisting at the very thought. He wanted to say he would never do such a thing, and neither would Roy- and, well, they wouldn’t. Not knowingly. But he’d spent a good many hours extremely irritated at this person to say the least, not thinking anything about her history and only the state her call had left Roy in. He’d been quite ready to yell at her, at best- and threaten her at worst.

It was a good thing, he realized with a shiver, that Hawkeye had stopped them both to tell them this. A very good thing.

He let Hawkeye lead the way for them, but, as she walked up the driveway, Maes looked over at his friend. He was still stiff and unreadable, and much of the hostility had been beaten away by his lieutenant’s revelation, but he had no doubt Roy was going to be shaken by this meeting. “Let us do most of the talking, all right?” he pressed quietly, lowering his voice for the words to be in-between just the two of them. This time, he made a point to keep his voice gentle, wanting Roy to know he wasn’t trying to provoke an argument. “And if it gets to be too much for you, please just go wait in the car for us. There’s no need to force yourself, Roy. Please.”

“...I know, Maes. I’ll be fine.”

But as steady and calm as his friend was, Maes was not convinced in the slightest, and he found himself swallowing back a thick knot of nauseated worry as Hawkeye raised her hand, and knocked on the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this guy was so short, I'm actually uploading chapter 5 right now! See you in a few minutes!


	5. The Same Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Hello! Did you read chapter 4 already? I posted it up at the same time as this one because they're both so short! Make sure you read that one first!

Melissa did not know Roy Mustang very well.

She had barely recognized him, in fact, that afternoon she’d found him staring up at her from the newspaper. She hadn’t been sure it was even the same man as the one she remembered. The man that stood at her front door right now was just as unfamiliar as the one from the article. Similar enough to be a brother, or a cousin, perhaps- but not the man she’d been after.

But, Roy Mustang was the man she remembered. His reaction over the phone had proved that well enough.

And that fact was why her mouth went dry, blood slowly chilling to ice, and heart stuttering a broken beat like it’d been struck straight with a sledgehammer, at the very sight of him standing in front of her door.

She wasn’t aware her hand on the door knob had clenched until she felt it digging painfully into her skin. Her feet carried her a stumble backwards, breath catching in her throat and heart hammering in her ears, blood pounding in her very skull. She stared at him, at this man, then from him to those others with him. Military, they were military; she’d known that from the paper. He’d brought friends with him. He’d found her, how had he found her? She- she hadn’t wanted-

One of them was talking. There were words, soft and unthreatening, and her head spun with it. She should listen. She had to listen. Her breath caught again, painful and short as she fought to listen and focus.

“-not to hurt you, ma’am. We only wanted to talk to you,” the woman was saying. The youngest one of the three, it looked like, and the shortest, her eyes cool and her voice calm as she spoke to her. She stood in front of Mustang, protective-like, and it took almost more effort than she had to wrench her eyes off of him and look to her.

“H-how... did you find me...?”

It was the man who answered her this time. Not Mustang; the stranger. “We’re military. We were able to follow your call back to this address.” He pressed a hand to his chest, making no move to approach her. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. This is Lieutenant Hawkeye, and- you know Colonel Mustang.”

Melissa stared.

Mustang did, too.

Slowly, her feet almost numb with the horror of it, she took a single trembling step backwards.

Mustang followed her, his step just as small as hers had been. He almost ran into Hawkeye, who turned to stare at him with wide eyes as the man moved numbly past her, shoulder knocking into hers like he didn’t even realize she was there. His dark eyes moved all over her, roving up and down, and Melissa swallowed tightly, resting both her hands on her swollen belly.

“You,” he finally breathed, the word leaving him packed with all the harsh, horrified weight of a knife to the heart. “It’s... you.”

She swallowed tightly again, and nodded.

Melissa had never wanted this. She had never wanted to meet him again, and she really had not wanted to meet him like this. She couldn’t have this conversation. She couldn’t bear even _seeing_ him. The lump in her throat tightened like an agonizing knot of thorns, and suddenly, she felt her baby kick hard against her hands. Like he knew what was happening and wanted it to stop. “...I have nothing to say to you,” croaked out at last, catching in her throat like broken glass, but she barely heard it over the roar in her own head. She wasn’t sure if she’d even said it aloud or not, or if the words had gotten lost somewhere in the torment in her chest; her breath caught again as he reached out one trembling hand, the other reaching up to cover his mouth.

He shook his head slowly, fixating on her stomach before his eyes jerked up to her face again, but she’d seen that short, horrified stare, and took another trembling step back before he could even say a word. “That’s not...”

“It’s not your business,” she choked out quietly, wrapping her arms even more firmly around her stomach.

The man shook his head again; if possible, he looked even more horrified than before. “What you said on the phone- _god-_ you said-“

“I said the truth.”

“I...” He bowed his head, frozen before her in abject contrition. Her baby kicked again and she couldn’t help but rub a hand over the area, trying to comfort him. _It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s not going to happen anymore._

She couldn’t do this.

“I never...” he mumbled, voice a soft, barely moan. “I never wanted... please. _Please,_ you have to know. I wouldn’t have...” Impossibly wide eyes lifted, staring at her past his bowed head. He’d turned the color of sour milk and suddenly snapped a hand to his mouth, clutching at his face and muffling the words but not the absolute horror weighing down everyone. “There aren’t words for how... _sorry_ I am _...”_

There was a long moment of unbearable silence.

“No,” she said at last, lowering her eyes to the ground. “There’s not anything you can say.”

He stood there for several more seconds, trembling in place and staring with vacant horror. Then he abruptly turned, stumbling down the walkway with great, heaving gasps, arms wrapped tight around his stomach and reeling like a drunk. Hawkeye startled after him in worry, leaving Melissa behind, and she found herself unable to do nearly anything at all but simply watch as the man dragged himself just as far as the sidewalk, then fell to his knees to throw up on the street.

Her baby kicked again, shifting with distress, and Melissa bowed her head, shutting her eyes tightly against the burn of tears.

She wouldn’t cry over this.

Hughes stood frozen on her front step, staring between her and Mustang as if torn. “Roy-“ he started, weakly stretching out a hand, then looked back at her with wide eyes. “I’m- sorry, I-“

The soldier finally ripped away from her, running forwards to join Hawkeye in her silent vigil. Melissa wasn’t sure why she’d followed him; she wanted nothing to do with him, with any of them, in that moment wanted nothing more than to lock herself back in her house and never come out again- but her numb legs carried her forwards, dragging her after him until she was just close enough to watch. One hand still rubbed her belly while the other forcefully wiped at her eyes, pushing away any possible remaining hint of tears. She looked down to the sidewalk where Mustang still knelt, getting violently sick while Hawkeye and Hughes crouched helplessly behind him.

No. She hadn’t wanted this to happen.

Finally, Mustang recovered himself, the horrible sounds of retching that had been turning her own stomach ceasing. She shivered, curling her hands reflexively over her stomach. The soldiers spoke quietly amongst themselves, mostly too quietly for her to hear, but the general message of worry and concern got across all the same. The entire time, she only heard Hughes and Hawkeye speak. Mustang never said a word.

“...wrong, Roy? Roy, please, talk to us.”

“Sir..."

Finally, when they never received any response, the two started to get Mustang upright. She averted her eyes like a reflex, not wanting to so much as see him. But even that couldn’t block out their words, not even as she stumbled backwards towards her sanctuary again could she could get far enough away for that, and she flinched away, hands shaking in sheer misery.

“Roy, Hawkeye’s going to take you home, okay. She- Lieutenant, my apartment, his place, what-?”

“I’ll take him back to his apartment right away. Come on, sir... it’s okay, just get back in the car...”

Melissa turned her head away, not wanting to even watch as the soldiers got him back to the car. She heard the slam of a car door and sped up, wanting only to just get away from this living nightmare; she stumbled up the driveway in an almost blind panic, mind focused only locking herself away in her house to never be seen again.

And just before she’d made it to her door, barely an inch away from surviving to be home free, a strong hand caught her by the elbow.

Behind her came the gentle rumble of the car turning on, slowly pulling away from the curb, and by her side, Hughes gripped her arm just a little bit harder, his eyes flashing.

“I think you and I need to have a conversation,” he said quietly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because THIS one was so short as well, next update comes two days from now, instead of three. See you on Saturday!


	6. His Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments/kudos!

As Maes walked Melissa back into her home, the only thing he could think about was Roy.

His heart pounded, a harsh, protective anger pulsing within him with each hard, uneven beat, no matter how hard he tried to cling to rationality, and it took all his self control to not lose his mind and start yelling then and there.

Once inside, Hawkeye and Roy thankfully gone somewhere safe, Maes helped her to sit down, as upset as he was something in him still not sitting right with watching the heavily pregnant woman trying to do it on her own. He clung to his instincts as a husband and a father for this, because his instincts as a best friend were firmly rallied _anything_ gentle or patient.

After Roy’s horrified reaction to meeting her, Maes no longer had any doubt that she was not someone he _ever_ should have seen.

_Damn it, Roy, all you had to do was listen to us and stay behind. You could’ve just listened to me for once in your damn life, and you would’ve been fine, Roy! Damn you-!_

Maes closed his eyes, feeling his fists clench in his lap, and breathed.

Despite his usual inclination towards anger, whenever Roy did something dammed stupid and stubborn like this, at the moment, all he could feel was nauseated fear.

“Like I said...” he began at last, trying to swallow the anxiety making his skin crawl. “We didn’t come here to frighten or upset you. But, in all fairness, ma’am. You contacted us first.”

Melissa’s eyes narrowed. She wrapped her arms a little more around her stomach, and there was no mistaking the gesture for what it was: defensive, protective. “I never meant for any of you to find me,” she returned, and despite his- probably failed- attempts to sound warm, her words were nothing but cold anger.

Maes sighed. With his best friend’s state weighing on his mind right now, and Melissa’s obvious unwillingness to help him, it was getting very hard to remind himself that treating her like a common criminal would not only be counterproductive, but _wrong_. He had to keep repeating to himself that no one could’ve predicted Roy’s reaction to coming her today, and no matter what had happened, this woman surely hadn’t intended to actually hurt his best friend like this.

It didn’t help much, when all he could see was the sickened, anguished look on Roy’s face the moment the door had opened and he had at last seen her face.

“Look,” he sighed, holding up a hand in the universal gesture for peace. “I can’t imagine how it feels, to have us come here like this today. I suppose I should say we didn’t come in any official military capacity. You’re not in trouble. We’re just friends of Roy’s, and after you called him- we were just both very worried that something was wrong.”

Maes hadn’t thought it was possible for her to look more unwelcoming before, but those words had certainly done the trick.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said coldly, arms still wrapped around her stomach.

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t accept that answer.”

She stiffened, gaze dropping down to the floor as if those quiet words had all but slapped her. Maes couldn’t help but follow it, looking around the small house and swallowing at what he found. It was a mess. And a _familiar_ one. The dust and disorder, old clothes and unwashed dishes scattered, a faint smell of uncleanliness- the only thing the chillingly familiar scene was missing was alcohol. It reminded him far too much of the way Roy’s place had looked, before he’d started to recover, before Maes had forced his way in and _made_ him start to recover, and he found himself fighting a shudder. He didn’t feel right about this. He couldn’t imagine how unwelcome and unwanted his presence was here, how terrible he was making this person feel, and after everything she’d already gone through-

But his focus was Roy. And right now, Roy didn’t need him backing off because he felt guilty.

Forcing back all his miserable misgivings and uncertain, regretful concern, Maes leaned forward, fixing her with a gaze that allowed no room for her not to answer. “We know that you called Roy, and what you said to him. Can you tell me why you did that?”

Melissa hesitated, dark eyes still on the floor. She shifted an inch further back into the couch, hugging her stomach like she was trying to get away from him- and Maes, guilt churning, found himself inching away as well. “...I told you, it wasn’t my intention,” she answered at last, voice low and forcibly monotone. “I saw him in the paper a few days ago, and just- thought that I recognized him. They had his name in the paper, I looked up his number, but... n-no, I apologize; it was a mistake calling him. I didn’t _have_ any intention... I just had to know if he was who I thought he was. But I didn’t- _don’t-_ have any valid reason. I... apologize, but I really don’t have anything to tell you.”

Maes paused. Their reasoning had been right, then... she’d found Roy through the paper. It was a slight weight off his mind, to know that for sure- but that hadn’t been the reason they’d come over here.

“Okay,” he said quietly. It wouldn’t do to strongarm his way around or make a threat out of this. It really, really wouldn’t do to act like that. “That explains why you called him, and asked him about his... number. That does not, however, explain what else you said to him.”

Melissa kept her eyes down still, and her arms around her stomach. She didn’t answer him, didn’t even try to, and Maes found himself trapped into silence, staring over her with a gaze heavy with regret. He couldn’t help but draw parallels to Gracia, when she had been pregnant, but this was just so... different. Surely it had to be partly his bias; he still swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful than Gracia, in the final months of her pregnancy- but Maes knew his bias for his wife could only carry him so far. Gracia really had looked radiant, and as uncomfortable and sore and tired and ill as he knew she’d been, she’d still wrapped her arms around their unborn child like it was her most precious, beloved treasure in the entire world.

Melissa held hers like it was a- a _poison._ She sat there, pale and drained, eyes marked with dark circles and a startling, almost frightening mix of healthily pregnant and too thin, her belly swollen but her hands small and her face hollow, and she looked...

She looked _awful._

Maes shuddered again.

Every minute he sat there, he felt worse and worse about doing this at all, and found himself less and less able to justify it to the inner torment of guilt inside him that grew by the second.

No. No. He had to do this. After a single, stilted, one minute conversation with her, Roy had been sick on his knees and so shaken he hadn’t been able to even speak to them. He’d spent the last two days a shaken wreck. He’d collapsed out there on the sidewalk and he’d looked _terrified._

He wasn’t backing off now.

“Ma’am,” he started again, leaning forward as calmly and non-threateningly as he could. “You have to understand. Colonel Mustang is my best friend, and I only came here to try and help him. I know it’s not my business, I know you probably don’t want to tell any of this- but I’m not going to leave until I’ve gotten some answers. Now, please: tell me why you said what you said to him on the phone.”

Melissa held her silence again, wordless and withdrawn, haunted, still just looking at him and nothing more. Her eyes, so pained and hostile and dark with memory, narrowed into a quiet glare, and Maes forced himself to hold still before her scrutiny, heart thumping in his chest. He let her judge him without complaint, not saying a word, just sat there and waited- waited for the hammer to finally drop, and for her to finally tell him just what best friend’s devastating history with her was.

And at last, Melissa curled her arms even tighter around her stomach and spoke.

“You want to know why I called him? You want to know my connection with five-five-seven-two? All right, then, Lieutenant Colonel. I’ll tell you. ...I’ll tell you exactly what he did to me.”

And, just like that, she did.

* * *

“Riza?”

Riza continued to drive, hands clenched around the wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white, but at the sound of her name from the backseat, quiet and wretched and a tortured moan, her heart skipped a beat.

“It’s all right, sir.” She looked up to him in the rearview mirror, watching his crumpled, wheezing form for only a moment before jerking her eyes back to the road. “We’re almost there.”

He didn’t look like her colonel. He didn’t sound like him. He didn’t make her feel like her superior did; her meant to be strong, assured, confident superior.

None of this was right.

None of this was okay.

Riza swallowed hard, forcing back the rising lump in her throat, and kept on driving.

Several moments passed wordlessly, the only sounds the screech of the tires and Roy’s short, shallow gasps.

“Riza?” he asked again. His voice sounded small... young. Fearful.

Nothing like Roy.

“It’s okay, Colonel-“

“Pull over.”

Her eyes widened, a wrench thrown into her single-minded mission just to get him out of there. “Sir?” she asked, even as her hands moved to follow the order without question. He was still gasping and shaking, white like chalk and wide, horrified eyes black like blood. “Are you going to get sick again? Sir?”

He didn’t answer her, didn’t even move as she pulled up next to the curb. She hesitated, completely lost as to what she should do to help him. Get out of the car, move around next to him? Talk to him? Wait in silence? What-?

“Colonel...” she started, just as her voice tried to fail her. She didn’t know what to _do._ He was Mustang, her superior, her commander- and she was always his support. But _this..._ she couldn’t be this for him. She had no idea what he needed- god, she had never even seen him like this before...

“Riza.”

He stared at her. He just stared at her, each breath a gasped, terrified wheeze, staring at her for things she could never give him. “Riza,” he whispered again. “...I’m so sorry. I’m... sorry.”

Her eyes widened.

She recognized that apology. Those quiet, guilt-packed words weren’t just anguishing- they were _familiar._

He wasn’t apologizing for something he’d done. He was apologizing for something he was about to do.

“Roy-“

Agony lit in black, terrified eyes, his face twisting in what could only be described as anguish. A great, heaving gasp was sucked in like she had sucker-punched him in the gut and he lurched backwards, pressing himself back against the leather to tremble like all he wanted anymore was just to get away from her.

And his alchemy came to life.

* * *

Maes stared in sheer horror.

His mind spun, to the point that he felt almost dizzy just sitting down. He barely realized his breaths were uneven, more in time with the frantic pounding of his heart than anything rhythmic, and he slowly leaned back to try and steady himself, pressing a hand hard to his chest. This did nothing to calm him down, and after several impossible, stunned moments, he slowly raised his gaze to Melissa’s again, at a complete loss for what to say.

“I...” he whispered, mouth dry. “I don’t...”

She stared right back at him, as cold and angry as he was shocked with sorrow. “I think you understand now why none of this was ever any of your business,” she told him, voice back in it’s dark, bleak monotone, and his stomach flipped in guilt.

“I'm... so sorry,” he rasped. He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing _for-_ for what she had gone through, for coming here like this, for forcing the story out of her- but he was sorry. He was too sorry for words to ever suffice.

They never should’ve come here.

Melissa didn’t soften at the apology, but as unhelpful as it was, he couldn’t blame her. “I think you should go now,” was all she said, folding her arms firmly, and he was helpless to do anything but nod.

He truly had no right to stay.

Maes swallowed as he braced his hands against the couch in preparation to stand. “Of course. But, I... well, about Roy...”

Her eyes flashed in that same cold anger that he’d been treated to this entire visit. “If you want an apology, I will not give you one. No, it wasn’t fair of me to bring him back into this- but I never wanted him to come here or see me. I never wanted him to know any of this.”

“I just think he’d-“

“I told you, I won’t apologize or explain anything to him. It’s not fair for me to have brought him back into this? It’s not fair I can’t ever leave it behind, but _he_ can!” And then she was up on her feet, fierce and so angry he almost couldn’t keep himself looking her in the eye. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Colonel, but I want nothing more to do with any of you. I never wanted anything to do with him again in the first place.”

Maes swallowed back his protests and he swallowed them back easily, sending them back to rest in his throat right with the rest of his guilt. For Roy’s sake, he desperately wanted to keep going. He could only imagine the state his best friend was in right now and wanted to beg her to reconsider speaking with him- but he didn’t need Gracia or Hawkeye there this time to tell him how inappropriate that was. If she didn’t want to meet with Roy, he, for one, could never imagine forcing it.

So he simply stood after her, bowing his head in acceptance and apology all at once. “Then you won’t see any more of us,” he said softly, because that truly was all he could offer. He took several steps away and clasped his hands behind his back, fervently wishing now, more than anything else, that they had never, _ever_ come here. “None of us will visit you again, and, we’ve... we’re going to be removing any mention of your pregnancy from the military’s files. No officers will bother you again.”

For the first time in this entire ill-fated visit, Melissa started, staring at him with something other than cold hostility. Her eyes widened minutely, gaze softening away from that icy anger, and Maes knew he’d finally done managed the only thing right that he’d pulled off today. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“There’s no thanks necessary. It never should’ve been in our files in the first place.”

Melissa nodded uncertainly, and for a moment, almost looked as if she was going to say something. Maes dutifully paused in his walk back to the door, giving her a few moments as she just looked at him, her eyes narrowed a little as she looked at him- and then, deflating like a popped balloon.

“You said you were his friend, didn’t you?”

Maes hesitated again.

“…Yes, ma’am,” he said at last, ceasing his slow, contrite backtrack towards the exit. Yes, he was Roy’s friend... did she have a message she wanted for him to pass along, or…?

But then, to his infinite surprise- her expression softened.

“Oh,” she sighed, and then, to intense, impossible bewilderment... actually managed a small, terrifyingly fragile, _smile._ “I suppose I never knew what you looked like… I didn't put it together.”

Well, _that_ was even more alarming than before. “I’m sorry?” He made an effort not to step forward again, trying not to pressure her, but couldn’t help finding himself even more lost than when they'd come here today.

Melissa hesitated herself, still not really looking at him, now even seeming a little regretful she’d brought it up in the first place. Maes would've allowed her to take it back if he could, but even as he found himself starting to try, his mouth and head both drained, empty, she tried again. Her arms wrapped back tighter around herself as her reluctant eyes turned away, working her jaw several times until she at last managed to speak. “We… um. Back then. B-before. We’d… some of us w-would…” She squeezed her eyes shut, and then Maes _understood,_ and he wanted nothing more than to be gone from the room but he couldn’t leave and she was already talking, each and every word making his heart clench like it’d been flooded with poison. “We’d talk to each other about our lives, b-before. Just to… to make things as bearable as they could be. And, f… Colonel Mustang… he never used names. He was so careful not to use anybody’s name, but- but more than anyone else, he... talked about this one friend of his. He t-talked about him a _lot._ Thinking about him really cheered him up… it was one of the only times I saw him smile.” She hesitated a moment more, a thin shadow of pain flickering through her eyes.

“He never said his friend’s name. All he told us was he was tall enough to lift him up and toss him right over his shoulders, and that… that.” She broke off again, already miserable expression wavering like ash, those eyes that he already could not bear to face now locked onto his- and horribly wet. “…He wore glasses.”

Maes’ heart stopped.

_He…_

_Roy…_

Roy had…

_Oh my god._

Roy had talked about _him._

In that terrible place, enduring things so horrible it far transcended any worst nightmare Maes had ever had, and- and Roy had talked about _him._ He’d done it so much this poor woman was able to recognize him off Roy’s stories alone.

It didn’t mean as much as it sounded like. He discounted that immediately, even with his stomach twisting as anguish flooded through his heart. Roy would’ve been careful, he knew; he wouldn’t have dared to ever even _mention_ the Elric brothers in that terrible place, not risk those monsters even once overhearing their names, _god they were just kids,_ and perhaps Riza had been spared for the same sort of a reason; as a woman, Roy might’ve just thought it too dangerous, but- oh, god. Roy had talked about him there.

_It was one of the only times I saw him smile._

His heart twisted, almost shattering with his chest, and it suddenly took a ridiculously strong effort to stop himself from bursting into tears.

_I’m so sorry I didn’t find you sooner… I’m sorry I didn’t save you in time, that all this happened to you and I just couldn’t stop it. I’m sorry that if I’d found you just a few weeks sooner none of this would be happening now. I’m sorry… God, Roy, I'm sorry..._

_I’m so SORRY…_

He could only imagine- or maybe he couldn’t; maybe it was something so horrific he could _never_ imagine it, he didn’t even want to imagine it, it was too horrible to be believed, but-

_Oh, god, Roy…_

Maes stumbled a shaken step back, unable to face her, suddenly desperate to just get out of that house. He wished he’d never known this. He now wished with all his heart that they had never, ever come here, that Roy had never learned about this woman just as Maes had never heard this story, but it was too late for that; it was too late for anything to change what had happened here today.

It was all too late.

“…Thank you for telling me this,” he managed at last, and it was the worst lie he’d ever told. “I- thank you.”

She nodded without looking at him, arms wrapping a little more tightly around herself. “I’m sorry for involving you,” she said back, and that, he imagined, actually was the truth. “I… I shouldn’t have involved either of you. I know I can’t take it back now, and I never meant for any of _this_ to happen… I shouldn’t have…”

Melissa stopped again, hollow gaze wavering as her voice broke. For just a moment, Maes thought she was about to apologize again. He wished she wouldn't. He knew it wouldn’t help him, it probably wouldn’t help even Roy, and of all people she was the one who had least a reason to apologize- but it felt wrong, somehow, to just interrupt and tell her to stop-

The phone suddenly rang. A sharp, piercing trill that made them both jump, Maes’ heart pounding faster and quick end finally put to this horrible discussion. Maes couldn’t have been more grateful. Melissa stiffened, looking after the phone with a faint shudder, then glanced back at him, seemingly trying to regain control of herself.

With nothing more than a raised hand, Maes turned around again. She wanted him gone, he wanted to be gone just as much as she did, and now they finally had the excuse to end this. “Goodbye, ma’am,” he said quietly, gathering up his coat as she hurriedly answered the call behind him, seeming just as eager to put an end to this catastrophic encounter as he was..

“Hello? ...Um... yes. He is. ...All right... Lieutenant Colonel Hughes?”

He started, turning back around in surprise.

Melissa hesitated, looking just as confused as he was as she slowly held out the phone. “It’s... for you.”

Maes stared at her. Admittedly, the surprise was somewhat nice- it was the first time in the past twenty minutes he’d felt anything at all besides _terrible_. But this was simply unexpected. A phone call, here? Why? Who even _knew_ he was here? “...Okay?” he asked uncertainly, scratching the side of his head. “I- okay...” He walked over to take the phone from her hand, giving it a confused glance before just raising it to his ear. “This is Hughes?”

And the sounds that greeted him over the line made his heart, just recovering from the last shattering blow, sink straight down back to his feet in horror.

“ _H-Hughes... sir... sir, it’s me- it’s Hawkeye- Hughes, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. I didn’t realize what he was- he-“_

“H-Hawkeye? Hawkeye, what’s-“

“ _He melted the locks, I had no idea, one second he was there and then he just melted them all so quickly I couldn’t stop him, he said he was sorry and just-“_

“Hawkeye!”

“ _He ran before I could get out! He had to have known it’d only take me a second, he just took off and I couldn’t stop him, I’m sorry, I looked everywhere and I couldn’t find him, he just- just vanished, and I-“_

“Lieutenant Hawkeye!” he nearly shouted, cutting off her panicked, runaway speech with an almost panicked burst of his own. Clutching the phone tightly to his ear he leaned forward, fighting against the fear slowly welling up in his chest at the terrifying picture she was painting. No, what’d she said... and the state of mind his best friend had to be in after meeting Melissa... no, _no_ , this wasn’t happening... “Lieutenant Hawkeye, what are you trying to tell me? What’s happened?!”

For one long moment, he got no response. Just Hawkeye gasping over the phone, and because it was Hawkeye, even that small display of distress was enough to tell him how bad this was. Nothing stressed her out. _Nothing._ For her to be in such a state now-

_Oh, god, Roy._

_What have you_ done _?_

At first, there was no answer.

And then, the stricken lieutenant got her breath back, her wits about her, and her trademark strength returned, and she told him.

“ _Roy’s gone, Hughes.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be in two days; see you Monday!


	7. Fault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments/kudos!!!

_Stop._

_Please._

“ _I don’t remember saying you had a choice, pet.”_

_Stop._

_Stop._

_Stop._

_Please._

“ _You_ _ **will**_ _do it._ _ **Do it now.”**_

_Stop._

_Stop stop stop stop stop please._

_Please stop._

“ _Do it now, my housebroken little pet, or-“_

_Stop stop stop stop_

“ _-you will drink her blood.”_

_Stop please, dear god don’t make me , anything but that, don’t make me, stop stop stop stop_

“ _ **Do it now!”**_

No...

Please...

Sounds. There were sounds. Voices, footsteps..

“No,” he heard, but if aloud or a haunted whisper only in his mind, he didn’t know. “No, please. Please don’t make me.”

_You don’t have a choice..._

Sounds again. Closer now. They were getting closer. They were coming.

No... _no..._ he’d come here so they couldn’t find him! He’d run and hid himself away here so they could never find him again. He was supposed to be safe here. Safe, so they could never take him and force him to-

To-

_Of course they found you. You’re already guilty. They found you because you’ll always be guilty. You broken, disgusting monster, they know. They know your sin; how could they not? You’re covered in it. It reeks like blood._

_You can run and run and run, but you can never run from what you’ve done._

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry... I’m sorry...”

Sounds. Sounds _again._

They were here.

_No... please..._

The sounds were too close to hide from. He hid anyway. He curled into the cold, hard ground, he pressed himself back to the wall, he pulled at his shirt until it hid his guilty face and huddled until he was nothing anymore, nothing at all but a trembling mold of disgusting sin.

But he couldn’t hide from them.

He couldn’t hide ever again.

_They know what you did._

_And they’re here for you again._

“ _No... don’t make me do it again. Please. Please. Anything else... you can do w-whatever you want with me, I don’t care, just... please...”_

_Don’t make me..._

But they didn’t listen. They never listened. _No_ wasn’t something with any meaning and he knew that, he knew that, was so _stupid,_ and the begged refusal died in his throat as hands found him. They touched him all over, pulling and laughing, laughing when he leaned away. Laughing at him because he had no right to say no, because as much as he desperately wanted them to stop he had lost any right he’d ever had to stop them; he deserved it, deserved it all, they were on him and-

“Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. Please, _please_ don’t. Don’t touch me... no... don’t do this... please...”

Hands, still all over him. Touching him everywhere. Laughter.

And then...

Then, they pulled away.

He didn’t deserve it. He’d never been more grateful for anything in his life, but he didn’t deserve it. A confused, dry sob caught in his throat, and he buried into himself as much as he possibly could.

“ _Go away... go away...”_

_But why? What right could you ever have to ask for that after what you’ve done? You sick, disgusting monster, what RIGHT do you have?_

_Whatever they do, you deserve it._

_You deserved every violence, every rape, every crime, every hurt; you deserved it then, and you’ll deserve it now._

“I’m... sorry...”

For several long moments, there was nothing. No hands on him, no one touching him, nothing. No one was there, yet it hurt so exquisitely, so much that he deserved it all, but they weren’t touching him any longer and he was sorry; so sorry he couldn’t breathe; so, so sorry, he was a monster, he was a murderer, he was _disgusting_ but all he could ever want was just for it to stop.

Then:

“Roy?”

This time, the sob in his throat was too big to shove back, and he choked on it.

“No- no, please- don’t- d-don’t- don’t call me that, please, please please don’t call me that-“

_That’s right. That’s not your name anymore, is it? It was, but you don’t deserve it. You’re not a man. Not after what you did._

_I’m... so sorry..._

“...Okay. Okay, buddy.”

_I’m sorry... I’m sorry..._

_Dear god forgive me, I’m_ _**sorry...** _

“Buddy? ...Buddy, can you let me look at you?”

No. No. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want anyone here, to touch him or see him or do anything to him ever again. All he _wanted_ was to vanish. To disappear, to die, to melt into this floor and not exist anymore. He wanted to- he-

He had no right to say no.

A third sob caught in his throat, this time so violently it hurt.

Seconds- hours- minutes- days- he had no idea; time wasn’t a concept that even _existed_ to him anymore, each gasp an eternity, each memory of horrified agony a lifetime of suffering- but a hand came to him again. Someone was touching him again, and he begged, he cried, he pleaded, _he didn’t want this,_ but he had no words or voice anymore and he did nothing but let it happen. He let it happen because he deserved it, this and every single bit of pain this cursed world had to offer, and forgiveness and mercy were not something he could every have rights to again.

His hands were pulled away, and his guilty face was bared to the world.

He couldn’t see at first. He’d hid his face in the darkness for so long the light blinded him, and he wanted to hide; oh, he wanted to hide- but- “I’m sorry,” he moaned, or maybe didn’t say it at all, a meek whisper in his head. _You deserve this. You deserve it._ “I’m sorry. I’m _trying,_ I’m sorry.”

The hands stayed on his face. He let them. He deserved them. He blinked slowly, letting them turn his face this way and that, letting them press to his cold skin and touch him.

Silence. Then:

“Damn it, buddy... why do you do these things to yourself?”

He blinked again. He sounded sad. Sad, and scared. “I’m sorry,” he fumbled out, though if asked he wouldn’t be able to say why he was sorry now, but he was, he was so, so sorry, “I didn’t- I-“

Clarity filtered into the light, and the blur became a face, a sad, scared face that he knew, and he was still sorry, and his heart weighed into it broke with shame and he didn’t know why, and he said, “Maes.”

There were more words, hands still on his face, pressing to his forehead and pushing his hair back. He looked elsewhere but didn’t pull away, words; still words- “I can barely see them. He’s drugged out of his mind.”

“Should we call an ambulance-?”

“No! No. He’s breathing, his pulse is steady, I don’t think... worst of it seems like he’s delirious. I don’t think he needs that... no. No, don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I... I...”

“Shh, buddy. Havoc- all of you- clear out now. I don’t think he can handle all of you right now.”

“...yes, sir. We’ll go call off the manhunt. ...sir-“

“I’m so sorry...”

“Clear out _now._ All of you.”

More sounds. More- more _people._ So many of them; he couldn’t, he didn’t want this, he- no, _no,_ please-

“There; there you go, buddy, it’s just us, all right?” Hands, still; all over him. “Is that okay?”

No. It wasn’t. It was so far from okay that it was another planet from where he stood now. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I swear I didn’t want to.” He begged the words out, sobbed them until they surely incomprehensible, could hear nothing but his own disgusting sin and- and- “I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry, you have to believe me, I didn’t, didn’t w-want-“

And then Maes’ sad, sad face broke, and his eyes became wet, and suddenly arms were wrapped around him and he was crushed to him, Maes’ face buried to his shoulder and hand pushed against his hair, and he was held so tightly in his arms that he could never get away again and he didn’t want to.. “Shut up. You don’t say that, buddy. Just shut up, you- don’t _say that._ Buddy, please.”

“I- I-“

“I know.”

“I... didn’t want...”

“I know you didn’t. I know, buddy. She told me everything.”

And he was too weak to push away, too pathetic to be alone, too guilty to bear it, so he just let Maes hold him, but he wanted _anything_ but this, and before he knew it the words were sobbed out again, muffled and broken against him. “She... she told you? She told you what I did?”

“Yes.”

Oh, god. “I- I didn’t- please, Maes; please believe me, I never wanted- I didn’t have a choice-“

“I know you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry- I-“

“ _Stop.”_ Suddenly, hands again, this time on his shoulders as he was hauled back an inch to look him in the eye. “Don’t apologize for something you had no choice in. Don’t do this to yourself, Roy.”

“I’m sor-“

“I said _stop.”_ Maes held him very tightly now, and there was nowhere for him to look but at him, but none of it helped, _none_ of it. “I know you blame yourself, I know you feel guilty, and that it was your fault, but _stop._ Are you listening to me? You had no choice. None. Accept that right now: you did _nothing_ to apologize for and I don’t want to hear you say otherwise ever again.”

_You touched her... you hurt her... you did this..._

_You did this..._

“She...” he gasped it out, shaking now, anguish pouring out word by word, a scream building in his head. He couldn’t even see Maes anymore. Instead of the friend he’d never deserved there was violence, there was blood, there was a woman screaming _no,_ there was-

“She’s _pregnant,_ Maes!”

And this time, the wail was muffled into his shoulder, and he was crushed into a hug again too tight to ever let him go.

Maes was saying things, talking to him, wasting words on him that he couldn’t even hear. He felt Maes touching him again too, but what did it matter? After what he’d done-

He wanted to hide. He wanted to pull away from him and hide his face again, hide forever and never have to face the reality of what he’d done again. He didn’t want Maes there holding him, he wanted Maes _gone,_ wanted everything and everybody gone to let him crawl away to never, ever be seen again. But the words caught over and over again in his throat; he wanted to pull away but didn’t know how to ask for permission. He wasn’t supposed to pull away before he’d been given permission, some part of him still knew that, it was one of the rules, and even if a tiny voice in his head whispered Maes would never hurt him the rest of him all too willfully was possessed by fear. It was too hard, all of this; he couldn’t do this, couldn’t be this, he-

_It’s your fault. You did this. Do you realize that? Do you have any idea what you’ve done, you sick, sick scum?_

“Hey,” Maes said quietly, pulling him back a little again. Roy cringed away, or perhaps he just wanted to. “Those pills you took. You have them on you, don’t you? Give them to me.”

“...pills?” Slowly, he shook his head, in confusion rather than denial. He didn’t remember; was too drained to even make sense out of the words. His breath caught again. “I’m sorry, I... I don’t...”

Maes sighed, breaking his gaze. He started touching him again, prodding all over, and it took several moments for him to realize he was just shifting his clothes, pushing at the folds rather than tugging them off. His skin still crawled, and he wanted to throw up.

Finally a hand was raised, an empty pill bottle in his grip. Maes frowned at it, then turned his eyes back onto Roy. He looked unspeakably disappointed, in him, it had to be in him, and he flinched away, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. He didn’t even know why the look scared him but it did, and he started to beg, no shame or dignity anymore, “I’m sorry, Maes, don’t-“

“I told you before, and I’ll tell you again: don’t apologize.” He was held again by the shoulders, the grip inescapable; shaken a little, then held still. “I told you that, and I meant it. I don’t want to even hear it. Now- you have more of these somewhere, don’t you?” He waved the empty bottle in front of his face. “Tell me where they are, right now.”

“...No,” he mumbled. “I don’t... I don’t have anymore.” It was a lie, one he barely even remembered the reason for; he was just cognizant enough to know Maes wasn’t supposed to know about these. He licked his lips. trying to arrange his face into a believable smile. “Those are the last ones.”

Maes gave him another long, evaluative look, one that meant far too much that he was too tired to understand, and he was only too glad to break his gaze, ducking his head to shut his eyes. He wanted this to stop. He still wanted Maes to go away, wanted all of this to just- just _go away-_ but Maes wasn’t leaving, and while his heart hammered in his chest and his skin crawled and his stomach churned with sickened fear-

He couldn’t, couldn’t _do this-_

“Buddy? Hey... hey, look at me-“

“ _Wait! Wait, wait, don’t go-_

“I’m not going anywhere. Roy-“

Terror slammed through him like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer of it. “Stop- s-stop-“

“ _No._ I’m not going to call you something else because of anything they did to you. _Roy-“_ he said again, still holding him too firmly to ever get away, a hand slipping around now to cup the back of his neck- the back of his neck, the scars, the _brand,_ he was disgusting, and it all hurt so badly and he was terrified and he _deserved it all._ “Roy, just stop. Stop thinking about it. I know what you look like when you’re thinking about it, and you look like that now, and I’m telling you to stop.”

Roy could barely hear him, his entire being still reeling with the moment Maes had started to pull away to leave him alone on the floor. It was pathetic, shameful and humiliating; he wanted to be left alone but the moment Maes had started to give him that he’d been so terrified of being left behind. Like Maes was all he had to keep him safe anymore and the moment he left- the moment he’d left-

“Stop that. You’re not doing anything but stressing yourself out. Just calm down, Roy, okay? Relax.” Arms were wrapped around him again, an anchor, a single anchor in a world that was entirely a terrifying nightmare that would never stop. He was pressed close to Maes, one hand holding his head against his chest and he shut his eyes, listening to the uneven cadence of his own racing, gasping breaths to Maes’ steady ones. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t want to do it, you didn’t have a choice, and it’s not your fault.”

_You did this..._

_You did this. It’s your fault. You had a choice, and you made the wrong one. You sick, sick bastard. You could’ve stopped this, and you didn’t. You could’ve said no, but you didn’t. You could’ve fought back, but you didn’t._

_IT’S YOUR FAULT._

_IT’S_

_YOUR_

_FAULT-_

* * *

Maes had never been this terrified in his entire life.

Roy was barely breathing, and it was to the point that Maes no longer knew if it was the drugs or his best friend’s terror that compressed each gasp he did catch into a short, panicked wheeze of anguish. His skin was ice cold, but given the desperate reaction when he’d tried to just go grab a blanket getting something to try and warm him up would just have to wait. He was not coherent, but again, whether this was the drugs or his emotional state, he didn’t know- though he fiercely hoped it was the former.

“Shh,” he begged again, surely the tenth time in as many minutes, holding him tighter at the sound of quiet whimpers against his shirt again. “Shh, it’s okay. Calm down. It wasn’t your fault.”

Roy’s reply, like almost all his replies now had been, was simply incoherent, so rushed and broken he couldn’t understand it at all. He didn’t need to understand it to guess at what was being said. His best friend had a guilt complex strong enough to carry him to the dammed moon and back, and that the only words he’d managed to understand from his thus far were frantic, heartbroken apologies, he didn’t need to hear the words this time to grasp the sentiment behind them.

They should have never gone to Melissa’s house. She should never had called Roy, they never should have investigated, they never should’ve gone to her house, and for the love of god, when Roy had manipulated his way into her home he should’ve had the good sense to knock his dammed best friend in the head so hard that he wouldn’t have even _remembered_ the name Melissa Weber.

Finally, _finally,_ Roy’s panicked breaths started to slow. His best friend still clung to him, clutching his shirt so tightly he could feel the metal fingers dig into his sides, and the desperate air about him hadn’t faded, but he did seem to be calming a little. That was enough for Maes, who was just desperate to get him out of here. He shook his shoulder a little again, trying to get him to pay attention to something. “Buddy, I’m taking you home now, okay? Come on, we’re leaving.”

Roy blinked several times, bleary and mute. Maes pushed some of the dark hair obscuring his friend’s gaze back, shifting his fingers through the tangles, mess, and dirt, and bit back a sigh. _What the hell did you even get yourself into, Roy?_ “Hey,” he cajoled gently, shaking him again. “Do... do you even know where you are right now?”

It was the drugs, he thought, it had to be the drugs as Roy stared blankly at his shirt, dark eyes clouded. He shook his head after several moments, then pulled a little at his jacket, fists digging tighter into the cloth. “I was lost,” he mumbled, his slurred whisper barely coherent. “I didn’t know where I- I was... I wanted to go s-somewhere safe... to hide... d-don’t remember...”

Maes sighed, running his hand up and down his back slowly. He debated over telling him for several moments, then just gave in with a sigh; he would find out sooner or later, and maybe keeping him talking would help him relax. “You went to your aunt’s place. You broke in.” He gently touched Roy’s bloodied elbow, scratched from where they could only assume he’d forced his way through the front window. He prodded just hard enough to cause a little pain, wanting to wake him up. “Remember?”

Once again, Roy held his silence for several moments, then simply shook his head. “No,” he whispered, and pressed his face back against his jacket.

Maes swallowed tightly.

He supposed it was all right his friend didn’t sound very worried, with that revelation. Maes was probably frightened enough for the both of them right now.

“...Riza,” Roy muttered abruptly, the word half muffled. “She... is she okay...?”

Maes almost jumped on the question, sickeningly relieved to finally be able to give him good news. “She’s absolutely fine,” he promised, steady and sure. “Worried about you, but you knew that already, didn’t you? But she’s fine.” He hesitated again, torn with how much to tell him, to remind him of. “You melted the locks of the car before you ran off, so she couldn’t get out. But you didn’t hurt her at all, and she was only stuck inside for a minute, maybe two. She just-“

“Did you tell her?” The interruption was quiet; they way his eyes bored into him was not, Roy grappling with his shirt again to support himself enough to try and meet his gaze face to face with horror and misery. “Does she know what I... what I did?”

Maes froze.

“She’ll... she’ll _kill_ me,” he sobbed, and it was only because he knew their history that he realized Roy was completely, horrifically serious. “She’ll kill me... and I’ll deserve it. I deserve it, Maes, I’ll deserve-“

“I told you to shut up,” Maes choked out, heart lurching. It was one thing for Roy to blame himself, but he couldn’t bear to sit here and just watch him tear himself apart for something he’d had absolutely no choice. He held Roy by the shoulders once again, pushing him back enough to look him in the eye, but Roy wasn’t looking at him. His tortured, guiltstricken eyes were glued desperately to the floor, shoulders shaking, face twisted with terrified gasps, but Maes still held him there, staring at him and trying frantically to reach through that guilt and shake it out of him. “You didn’t have a choice. I understand that and so will Riza.”

After a moment, a moment of just sitting there staring at Roy, words more ineffectual than they’d ever been in his life, Maes simply gripped him tighter by the shoulders and started to haul him upright, no longer giving him a choice in the matter. They were getting nowhere like this, talking in circles, and with as much drugs as Roy had taken, they weren’t going to get anywhere right now at all. His only option was to take control. “Come on,” he told him, gruffly and loudly. “We’re going home now. Come on.”

Roy stumbled ineffectually, utterly dead weight. Once again, Maes could only hope that it was the drugs as he wrapped his arms tighter around him, keeping him more or less on his feet as he started to tug him to the door. He kept his eyes down, watching Roy’s feet drag along the floor rather than look at the mess around them. The alchemist had torn his old room apart, ripping dusty sheets off the bed, hurling forgotten alchemy texts on the floor, tearing the wallpaper. His new array was half etched into multiple surfaces, a circle started and then forgotten; the walls looked like the scrawls of a madman.

Next to him, Roy moaned something under his breath, something broken, something agonized, and Maes swallowed, dearly wishing he could forget that last thought.

“Didn’t... mean to come here...” he mumbled suddenly, still clutching on to him so tight he never could’ve torn him away. “D-didn't- I just wanted to go away.” His head fell heavily against Maes’ arm, dark eyes half-lidded at best. “I... didn’t want to be this anymore.”

Maes stopped, his heart going cold. “...Is that why took all those pills, then?” he asked quietly. Roy’s hand was still roving blindly over him, searching something to hang on to, and he slipped his own hand into his grip, no matter how painful it was when the colonel grabbed on so tightly he gasped. “Did you take them so you could go away?”

Roy didn’t answer him. He clutched his hand, he shook, he stared to the floor with wide, devastated eyes, but he didn’t answer him, and at that terrible look on his face, Maes didn’t think he wanted to know the answer, either.

He didn’t believe Roy was suicidal. He fiercely, whole-heartedly believed that his best friend would _never_ intentionally hurt himself. Not again. Roy had his problems, and was disastrously capable of _not_ taking care of himself while still doing his job- but he wouldn’t kill on himself. Even on his very worst days, when he might actually want to, he would not.

But what about when not in his right mind?

What about after meeting one of the worst nightmares from his past head on, already exhausted and stressed, nonstop hours of panic and guilt, with a bottle of sleeping pills on him and the dreadful, frightening idea that taking them would be able to just _make it stop?_

They were lucky, he realized, with a dawning sense of terror, that this bottle had been almost empty. Because Maes was starting to think Roy had taken every single pill he’d had, and the only reason they hadn’t walked in on him in a coma or worse was because he hadn’t had enough to put him there.

“We’re going to have a talk about this,” he sighed heavily, dragging Roy another few steps to the door. “When you’ve got your head back on, you and I are going to talk about this, and you’re never going to do something this stupid again, you hear me?”

Roy didn’t reply to this either, but Maes hadn’t expected him to.

Roy’s old room was over the bar, leaving Maes with both the task of somehow safely getting him down a flight of stairs and dragging him past the bar itself, where he knew most of Roy’s family had congregated and suspected his men had as well. Hawkeye and Havoc had been with him when they’d stumbled across Madam Christmas’ bar early this morning, realizing when they’d seen the shattered glass what must have happened, and if he knew anything about them they would be waiting for their superior downstairs as well. Roy was in no state to deal with either of them, but Maes couldn’t exactly let him go long enough to go ask the soldiers to stay back, either.

He stopped at the head of the stairs, pushing Roy out to try and meet his eyes; he gripped his shoulders as hard as he could, doing everything he could to get his focus. “Roy: no alchemy, got it? I know you have an array somewhere on you, and you’re going to tell me where later, but right now you’re not allowed to use it. You’re safe right now, none of us are going to hurt you, so you don’t need to use it and you’re not going to. Roy, tell me you understand. No alchemy.”

Roy held still, wavering on his feet for several moments. His hand shook as he lowered his touch to his arm, pushing back a messy sleeve to trail along the scars, tracing along the broken arrays, caressing them with a lover’s touch. He shook his head after a moment, not in refusal but as if to clear his mind, then clutched harder at Maes’ jacket, sagging into his shoulder. “Don’t go,” he whispered, not a plea but a command, and was hanging off him so securely separating had never been in the question in the first place. “ _D-don't... don't go..."_

“...Of course not.” He shut his eyes, suddenly burning with something close to tears, and ran a hand slowly over his trembling back again. “I’m not going anywhere, buddy.”

Getting Roy down the stairs was a disaster waiting to happen. The colonel was trembling like a leaf, disastrously unsteady, and even if not for his emotional state and the drugs Maes suspected it'd still be a fight; the bottom of his feet were scraped, torn, and bleeding, because he'd been in such a rush he hadn't put on his boots before leaving Maes' home yesterday morning and had since spent god knew how many hours roving the streets i his socks. Not that Roy seemed aware of what he'd done to his feet, tottering along in an almost drunken stupor, and Maes knew from experience that Roy was far better friends with faceplanting right now than managing so much as a straight line.

He nearly dragged him, hauling him step by step and waiting, the hair on the back of his neck standing up, to have to lurch forwards and protect him from taking a dive. Thankfully, Roy’s balance was never so bad to send him head over heels, and Maes was able to get him down to the first floor without mishap. Once there he glanced over Roy’s head, meeting worried eyes all around the room, and just shook his head. _Not now,_ he thought silently, staring hard at them all, _interrogate me all you want later, but not now._ _ **Not now.**_

Havoc looked uncomfortably at the floor, and that was if he was polite about it. In reality, he looked almost frightened. Hawkeye looked stricken. Roy’s sisters stared openly, wide-eyed, but at least they were silent. Maes was able to shepherd him forwards, shuffling step by shuffling step, trying to keep the colonel turned into his chest, gaze shielded away from everyone around the room. They were just a few steps away, so close to him getting Roy to safety, so close to him getting his best friend out of there-

And then, he just stopped.

Maes nearly growled, tugging harder on his arms. Damn it, no, not now. Whatever Roy was doing, not now. “Come on, Roy. Kiddo, come on,” he nearly begged, struggling to drag him another step. “Let’s go. It’s time to go now, come on, let’s-“

“My mother...” he muttered, blinking hard. He pushed at Maes, for the first time pushing at him, trying to get away. He shook his head, long, messy hair almost obscuring his eyes entirely. “Let me go. Let me _go,_ Maes.”

Maes stiffened. It was the first moment of anything even resembling coherency, but the cold, strangely desperate look on his face was anything but reassuring. He looked up uncertainly, turning his gaze to Christmas, who was, indeed, standing in the bar alongside the escorts and prostitutes, staring at her foster son with an almost disturbing mix of grief and horror. She was just as silent as the rest, and how Roy had even known she was there, Maes had no idea- but suddenly, finally, Roy was focused on something beyond his own distress, and he found he didn’t have it in him to deny him that. He tried one more half-hearted tug, but his best friend was insistent, pulling his arms away from Maes to regain his own balance.

Christmas looked even more unsettled now than she had before. The way Roy was staring at her, dark eyes wide and black as caves, face hollow and empty, his gaze vacant as a dead man’s... he couldn’t blame her for flinching away from it. It sent a chill down Maes’ spine, and he wasn’t even the target of it.

Roy stumbled another few steps forward, still looking nowhere but at her. “He told you what I did,” he said very slowly, seeming to have to struggle to clearly enunciate each word. He stumbled again, then finally stopped, swaying on the spot and standing at the center of the room' disturbed, frightened attention. “Didn’t he? He told you what I did.”

The madam slowly shook her head, plainly as unsettled as Maes felt. She seemed to understand as little as he did about this, and all Maes knew that this was not something that would end well. “...Buddy,” he started quietly, reaching out a hand to him.

“ _Shut up,_ Maes. Chris- Chris. You... you t-told me, when I was eleven. I remember... you said that if I ever touched a woman against her will, you’d throw me out back on the streets.” He stared at her still with a sick, twisted smile, anguish contorting it past everything except sickened sorrow. “Well? Did Maes tell you? Did he tell you? I raped someone, Chris.”

This had been an extremely bad idea from the very start. “Roy, _shut it,”_ he growled, turning off any attention that had been for the rest of the room and focusing entirely on him. “We’re leaving now. Come on-“

But Roy yanked his arm away so violently he nearly fell, still staring at his shocked foster mother with wide, haunted eyes and that same sick smile. “I raped her. She didn’t want to, and I knew that, and I still made her do it. I _raped_ her six times. S-she- _screamed_ for me to stop. She was crying. She cried the whole time and begged me to stop, but I wouldn’t. I never stopped. She was crying and screaming for me to just _stop,_ and I didn’t listen.”

Christmas looked speechless.

She wasn’t the only one.

Maes turned away, hugging himself with a violent, nauseated shiver, and miserably shut his eyes.

“Are you going to tell her _why_ you didn’t stop?” he asked, just as quietly.

But Roy just kept on with the soft, devastated rant as if he hadn’t even heard him.

“She screamed at me to stop, and I didn’t listen. I hurt her, over and over again. It was m-my fault, and I... I forced her... I could’ve stopped but I _didn’t._ I could’ve let her go, I had so many chances to stop, I could’ve found another way, but I didn’t. I didn’t, she screamed at me over and over again, and I just... I just k-kept _doing_ it...”

Maes listened as his voice, his once frigid, steady voice, what had began as an emotionless, remorseless allocution of his crimes just broke. Word by word the facade shattered, crushed down, breaking in a display too painful for him to even watch, but he heard it. He listened as Roy’s attempt to paint himself as the monster he saw himself as just fell apart. His breaths hitched, tiny gasps brutally broken and unsteady, and he could hear him crying now- wincing at ever tiny, desperate crack in his voice that betrayed the tears.

“Are you going to tell her,” he repeated, still soft, “why you didn’t stop?”

Roy didn’t answer. He didn’t even move.

Maes advanced a step from behind him, staring at his trembling shoulders, the shudders that wracked his slim frame with every broken breath. “Are you going to tell her, or should I?”

No response came, nothing at all, and he took another step forward, looking from his best friend’s slumped back to his stunned mother. Chris was currently staring like her foster son had just punched her across the face; utterly speechless and shocked, and Maes took one look at her and decided he had no choice but to speak up for his best friend, since he wasn’t going to do it himself.

“Roy is referring to Melissa Weber. She was held captive seven months ago, same as he was. And he’s speaking of when they held a gun to her head, and told Roy he had a choice. He chose to do whatever he had to do to keep her alive.” He broke off to approach Roy again, focusing his gaze only on him because he just didn’t want to see how anyone else was going to react. He looked only at his inconsolable, despondent best friend, looking him right in his empty eyes, and said, “Nothing that happened there was his fault.”

And when Roy said nothing, did nothing, just simply stood there with tears slipping slowly down his cheeks and stared with the most guiltstricken eyes he had ever seen, Maes folded his arm back around his shoulders and pulled him back out to the car without another word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update should be on Thursday!
> 
> ...and yes, that is finally the whole truth of what happened between Roy and Melissa. There'll be some elaboration later on, but that is the whole story :)


	8. Rules: Redux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments/kudos!

Roy Mustang had his rules.

Maes Hughes broke his rules.

And right now, Roy Mustang found himself at a loss to do anything but sit there, and let Maes Hughes break them.

He sat on his bed and shook, watching as Maes just calmly worked without a word. He couldn’t feel; he couldn’t even think. He watched numbly as the remains of his uniform were pulled off, Maes undressing him like a child because he was too detached and hurt to do stop it. His scars were revealed, the ugly, self-inflicted ones all over his arms and the shameful, deserved ones on his back. He watched the dirty, bloodied button up be pulled off, and sat like a limp rock as his bare arm was extended, antiseptic and bandages tended against his wounded elbow, then again to the bottoms of his feet. It hurt, but a strange, soft sort of pain that just sort of floated over the mass of torment inside him, like a fly buzzing overhead very, very far away.

Maes kept on working. He’d undressed him, and now he dressed him, pushing his arms into new, clean sleeves and buttoning up his shirt when Roy found himself unable to do anything but stare at it dumbly. He was shaking. He couldn’t stop shaking.

Maes was speaking to him. Maes was saying something. Touching him. Holding him.

He couldn’t listen. He couldn’t cope.

Roy shut his eyes, and pressed his face against his neck.

More hands, touching him. This time one that rested on the back of his head, and once upon a time, he knew some quiet, logical voice would’ve whispered in the back of his mind, whispered that it was Maes, only Maes, and to calm down, because it was just a hand on his head and it wasn’t going to hurt him. But that voice was gone now. He remembered his head being tugged back so violently his neck almost broke. He remembered his face being shoved down into a pillow with an arm on the back of his neck and a knee bruising into his back to keep him there. His body ached and hurt with what his mind screamed to him would come next, what would come after that hand on his head, and the distinction he’d once known between Hughes and them no longer existed, and he felt himself just go limp because if he didn’t fight, then it wouldn’t hurt quite as much in the abuse to come.

Maes was still speaking. Still holding him. He was saying something.

“...you have to eat. Roy, it’s been over two days since you’ve eaten. This isn’t negotiable.” There was still a hand against his head, and now another arm around his shoulders. “You’re not staying here alone while I get food. Come on. Up. _Up.”_

Food... food. He shook his head slowly, face still hidden in his shoulder. “Can’t,” he whispered, or perhaps he only thought it. “I... can’t.”

Maes tugged. “Yes, you can. I know you feel bad, I’m sorry, it’s not negotiable. Just a-“

“Can’t,” he moaned, but Maes didn’t care when his legs buckled, he didn’t care when he tried to fall, he just found himself pulled along the hallway, ignored. “I _can’t.”_ He tried to push a hand at Maes’ chest; get him to understand. “I can’t eat. I didn’t- didn’t earn it.”

Didn’t Maes understand? He’d told him once before, hadn’t he? He had. _You have to be good to earn food. You haven’t been good, have you? Have you?_

She’d screamed no...

_And you. didn’t. stop._

Maes stopped. A high-pitched, ragged breath came from by his ear, arms still around him. He stood stock still, just holding him in the middle of the hallway.

Then, he was hustled along again, and this time, caught a torn, heartbroken sob.

“That’s another thing that you’re not allowed to say, buddy,” Maes told him, voice harsh and broken, and Roy now stayed silent.

He didn’t understand or process what happened next. He was pushed down to sit. Food was put in front of him. He stared at it. His stomach churned. His head roared. “Eat,” Maes said softly, hand landing on the back of his head again. “Do it. Don’t think you don’t deserve it. Just eat.”

 _Don’t think. Don’t think._ He could do that. He could not think-

“She’s pregnant.”

She was pregnant.

Her big, swollen belly. Eight months pregnant, Riza had said. His brain whirred like a stuttering machine. Eight months. Not just a little clump of unthinking, amorphous cells. That was a little _baby_ , with a little brain and a little heart and ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes, a little baby that was half him. A living, thinking, breathing being he had- had _forced_ into existence-

He wanted to vomit.

“Roy...”

“It’s mine, isn’t it?” he gasped, choking on it. “I’m the father. It was me.”

There were arms around him again. Even tighter, this time, holding him by the shoulders from behind and grabbing him still tighter when he shook. “...She said she thought so,” came at last, low with reluctance but an honesty that killed him. “She can’t be sure, she said, but she told me that it was... more likely than not, that it was you.”

“Oh, god. Oh, _god.”_

“Roy-“

It was his. It really was his.

Not that he’d ever thought- because _six times,_ six, _**six times**_ he had _**raped**_ her, of course it was his, but- but now-

His stomach rose and he dropped his head to the table, a moan clawing its way out his throat. He felt so sick he suddenly knew without a doubt he was going to throw up all over Maes. He’d known, he’d suspected, he’d honestly believed it, but to get that confirmation now...

How could he have done something so vile? So sickening? So _wrong?_

His hands burned, his heart shook and tore and threatened to rip itself straight out of his chest. He’d grown up knowing rape was wrong before he’d even known what sex _was._ He’d poked his head out over the banister as a little five year old, clutching pajamas and a stupid fucking teddy bear to watch as his foster mother took men who didn’t stop at the word no and threw them out so violently they cracked their heads bloody on the sidewalk. He’d known before he knew about kissing and sex and how babies were made that putting his hands on a woman if she didn’t want it was _wrong._ And what had he done? What had he done?!

_Six times-_

“Do I have to write these things down now?” Maes’ voice, loud, overbearing, cut in, and it was only when he was interrupted that Roy realized he’d been speaking aloud, soft, choked apologies along a backdrop of hyperventilation. “More things you aren’t allowed to say. Stop it, Roy, just- just stop it, okay? This isn’t negotiable, either. Stop apologizing for something you had no choice in.”

But he didn’t sound firm. He sound sad, and scared, and heartbroken. Almost like he was crying, another quiet sob from above him, and hands tightened on his shoulders again to steady him. Another apology choked out his throat and he tried to shove him off, burying his face in his horrible, inhuman hands. “I could’ve said no. I could’ve stopped it. I could’ve fought it. I could’ve-“

“Could’ve what, watched her die? Roy-“ Maes swung around again, this time crouching down to meet him eye to eye. Revulsion bloomed in him at the contact, and he just- he wanted _away_. He wanted to throw himself into the deepest, darkest corner of the world and never get within a mile of another person again but in the same heartbeat wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and cling to him until he died. “It’s Ishval all over again, except even worse. You can talk all day about how you could’ve done something different, but there’s nothing- Roy, _nothing-_ you could’ve done. You have to know that. They used you to hurt her, and- and her to hurt you, too. Neither of you is at fault for that. Neither of you could’ve prevented it. You can guilt trip yourself into oblivion but the fact of the matter is none of it was your fault, and you can’t blame yourself for it.”

He was silent for several moments, just staring at him, waiting for the words to take hold, but Roy couldn’t think of anything beyond the horror of what he’d learned today; what he had _done._ He shook his head slowly, another breath catching in his throat, and once again nearly lost what little he’d managed to eat all over him.

Maes shook his head after a moment as well, mouth pulled into a stubborn frown. “We’re not going to talk about this right now,” he said, standing back, and Roy was equal parts frantic to have him near and _repulsed_ by the contact so he said nothing. “You’re exhausted and I’m pretty sure still riding out the drugs; there’s no point in it, Roy. You need to think about something else. You... you... all right.” He dusted his hands off on his pants, looking as thoroughly shaken as Roy was and doing a thoroughly bad job of hiding it. “The drugs. Yeah. I know you’ve hidden some here, Roy- do your friend a favor and tell me where? I’m going to find them either way, but I’d consider it a nice gesture if you didn’t lie to me about it.”

He shook his head slowly again, still trying to clear it. His pills. Maes wanted his pills. “...No,” he mumbled, swaying in his seat. “No, I’m... I’m fine. You don’t n-need to... to take them.”

Maes’ frown twisted into a glower, his friend folding his arms to glare down at him in almost outright anger, an anger that sent a near terrified chill down his spine. “You want to be difficult about this, then? Fine by me. Like I said, I’ll find them either way. But, just so you know, you’re not fine.”

“I’m-“

“You overdosed twice in two days. Call me crazy, but I’m not going to push my luck and try for a third.”

A quiet anger collected around his heart, a meek and frightened sort of a thing, like a wounded and threatened animal that had been backed into a corner. He didn’t like it, because he didn’t _want_ to be angry, anger got him nowhere, if he fought back it would hurt even more but- but he _needed_ this- “Maes,” he tried weakly, “you don’t understand. It’s not like it’s- it’s heroin or crack or something, I’m not getting high, I j-just-“

“-just take them until you’re so blitzed out you can barely even think? Yeah, I don’t think _oh, but it’s not like it’s heroin, Maes,_ is the winning argument you think it is.” He scowled, almost dangerously so, and continued to glare down at Roy to the point that he felt not even an inch tall and wanted to hide under the fucking table. “Like I said, if you want to be difficult about this, be my guest. I thinks you should know, though, that I spoke with your mother this morning. She had no idea you’d been hitting up her employees for drugs, and has already put out the word that none are to _supply_ you again. Crystal, and- what was it, Ginger? The one who was giving you the sleeping pills?- were especially warned.”

“ _What?”_ He jerked upright, panic burning through him fast enough to eat away at the lingering tendrils of fear. “You _what?!_ Maes! Maes, I need those! Damn it, Hughes, those are legal drugs; _give them back!”_

But Maes just kept his arms folded, glaring down at him in the paragon of stubbornness. Maes had a peculiar ability that once he took a stand, nothing or anyone could argue him down from it, and right now, he looked as if he had taken a stand on this right here, and was never going to back down. “Alcohol’s legal, too,” he returned coolly, “but after you made it a nightly habit to drink yourself stupid I think we both saw that just because something’s legal doesn’t mean I’m going to let you do it.”

“ _Maes-!”_

Roy forced out a deep breath, closing his eyes tightly. It didn’t matter what Hughes said, he reminded himself firmly. He could bluster and be an ass all he wanted. The fact of the matter was, he had more pills hidden in his apartment, and just because he couldn’t use his sisters anymore didn’t mean he was stuck. He had connections. He had connections, and Maes Hughes, damn him to hell, wasn’t about to stop him from using them.

He just had to stay calm, and get through this.

Roy let out a long, tense breath, forcing himself steady. As much as some small part of him still desperately begged for human contact, if it was a question between satisfying needy, clingy, _undeserving_ part of him, and taking enough drugs to turn off _all_ of him, not just the part that wanted Hughes to stay but _everything_ until he couldn’t even feel anymore, Roy knew which one he chose. It wasn’t even a contest.

“Get out of my apartment, Hughes,” he said, and kept his voice very, very calm.

Maes just looked down at him, arms folded, and didn’t budge as much as a single inch.

“I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this, either, buddy. But I’m not going anywhere.”

He started to rise, lifting out of the chair in a silent threat and just about to yell before he somehow managed to swallow it back. Maes didn’t respond to threats. Maes wouldn’t care about how hard he tried to insist that he was fine. The only method towards getting his way was to pretend. To let Maes stay here however long it took to reassure him, and pretend to cooperate, and let the son of a bitch do his good intentions shit, and when Maes _finally_ decided he was capable of looking after himself again and left, he’d revert back to how he usually worked. He had enough drugs hidden here to get him through it until he could fool Maes. All he had to do was just put on a good enough show until that happened.

“Fine,” he muttered darkly. He pushed himself to his feet, turned his back, and walked away.

Maes followed him.

Roy felt his temper spike even higher, a physical pulse of hot, bleeding rage, and kept his gaze focused very firmly forward just so he wouldn’t lose what bare threads of control he had and roast him to hell. That was the bad side of having his array permanently scarred into him, he supposed- he could no longer just take his gloves off and take a breath until he calmed down. He had to have perfect control of himself at all times, no matter how much Maes was pissing him off or how desperately he wanted the bastard gone just so he could down a handful of tranquilizers and _stop-_ or how much the array on his stomach itched and begged and _screamed_ to be set alight.

He wasn’t going to use his array. He didn’t need to. He had it nearby, he had it available if he needed it, and that was enough.

“I’m going back to bed,” he announced darkly. There was little chance he’d be able to, but there was still enough of the drugs in him that he might as well give it a shot. Maybe he wouldn’t even have a nightmare this time. “Unless you’re going to complain about that, too, now? Am I _allowed_ to do that still, or have you decided that’s banned as well?” He didn’t bother to turn back around, instead starting to shrug back off the set of clothes he’d just put on. His wounded elbow itched and stung with the motion but he ignored it, just shrugging off his shirt before going for his pants next, taking them and his boxers off in the same motion.

Maes made a tiny, discontented noise behind him, distressed surprise clearly stifled with great effort, and Roy ignored that, too. He made a show of stretching again, showing off each and every one of the long scars on his back, then flopped around to hit his bed, belly-up and grinning. “If you’re uncomfortable, you can leave,” he said with a sharp smile, spreading his legs with a teasing roll of his hips and grinning even more when Maes shifted, now staring awkwardly to the floor. “Unless... you see something that you _like...”_

Maes flushed, eyes still glued right on the floor. “There is something seriously wrong with you,” he muttered, still not looking up, and Roy smirked, making no attempt to cover himself. It was pretty hard to still have a sense of shame or modesty, when he’d spent nearly six months straight ass-naked for all the world to see, and if it bothered Maes, all the better for it.

“Like I said,” he pointed out, still grinning, “if you don’t like it, the door’s right over there, my friend.”

Maes sighed through his nose, still not looking up. He dithered on the spot for a moment, clearly uncertain, then just moved away to sit down heavily at Roy’s desk, elbows thumping down on his thighs and gaze still pinpointed down. “Until I’ve had the chance to go through this place top to bottom, and find every dammed stash you’ve got in here, you’re pretty much just stuck with me, Roy. Throw a fit about it if you want.” He reached over blindly to his desk, plucking up a file at random and burying his nose in it. “Given that the last two times I left you alone you choked back as many pills as you could take, Roy? I’m staying here.”

Roy stared.

Maes kept his head down, deceptively still and calm in his chair, and noisily flipped through another page.

Once again, his temper flared, and it took everything he had not to send a flicker of fire across the room to burn to ash the file right in his hands.

After several moments of very unhelpful staring, Roy finding himself just uselessly lying in bed, heart still pounding against his naked chest with every lingering aftermath of self-disgust and fear, and glaring daggers into that dammed folder, he gritted his teeth to keep the scream locked in his throat, and pushed himself violently onto his other side, back to Maes and curled into the tightest ball that he could.

A moment later, some of those tendrils of self-disgust melting into fledging terror, and he yanked at the hem of his blanket to cover him from head to toe, burrowing until the only part left of him visible was the very top of his head.

Like he’d expected before, there wasn’t enough of the drugs in his system to allow him to go to sleep, so he laid there in complete and utter silence, eyes shut and listening to the pounding of his own heart. He needed the drugs to sleep, with Maes there he couldn’t get them, so he was given no choice except to just lie there and let the waking nightmares come.

_You raped her._

_It was you._

_You raped her, 5572._

_You raped her._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should come on Saturday! See you then!


	9. Wasn't Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the comments/kudos!

“...Maes?”

“Yeah, Roy?”

“Did...”

“Roy?”

“...Did she say anything to you? About... about why she called me?”

Maes hesitated.

Roy’s voice was small- almost half-muffled, into his pillow. There was a decided lack of energy in it, but not a sleepy, dreary sort of fatigue that would’ve been reassuring. Maes wasn’t surprised. He’d been sitting here for well over three hours, and color him observant, but he was pretty sure Roy hadn’t been asleep for a single minute of it.

“She said she didn’t intend to you involve at all,” he returned at last, just as quiet as Roy. He chose his words very carefully, each one guarded and precise. He may not have wanted Roy to find out anything more about this, but it was his right. Trying to withhold it from him like he was a child was not the way to go about this. “She told me that she saw your picture in the newspaper, and just... had to know if it was you. She wasn’t think about how it would seem from your end, to get a call like that out of the blue. She’s not... she wasn’t... looking for anything from you, Roy.” He hesitated again, running his thumb down the edge of the drab report on office supplies that he was on his third read through of. “She even told me she hadn’t meant for you to get involved at all.”

Roy didn’t answer him, still turned away and curled close to the wall, and Maes’ gaze fell, landing morosely on the file again.

There really wasn’t anything he could say, in this topic of discussion, that was going to bring any semblance of levity to the room.

His friend was quiet for several moments, all that Maes could see of him the top of his dark head. He was just a small lump under the covers, unmoving and almost deceptively calm. Finally, he fidgeted a little, fidgeted to pull himself into an even tighter ball- a feat that was somewhat impressive, since Maes would’ve thought it impossible before now. “I have money. Unbelievable amounts of it, actually. I can... I should...”

It took Maes several moments to realize what he was getting at. When he did understand, he almost wished that he hadn’t.

“Melissa made it pretty clear to me that she didn’t want anything at all from you," he said quietly, as non-judgmental and gentle as he could make it. "Financial assistance or otherwise, Roy. What she wanted most, it seemed like, was to never be contacted by you, or me, or anyone in the military ever again.”

Roy fell silent for a beat. He still looked strangely relaxed, although perhaps it was only because he’d hidden under the blankets. Maes didn’t doubt the tension his friend tended to wear like a second skin was etched into every line of his face. He was just doing a remarkable job of keeping it hidden, and it _wasn’t_ the drugs, this time... he sounded perfectly sober at last.

Perhaps the only good thing about this situation at all.

“You know,” Roy said suddenly, soft, quietly pained voice penetrating the nearly oppressive silence like a blade, “I don’t know if you remember this, but we were getting drinks once- about a year after Elicia was born. You told me if I ever knocked my flavor of the week up, and saw fit to only be involved by sending her a monthly check, you’d punch me down a flight of stairs.”

Oh, Maes did remember that, very well. He also knew that that wasn’t the sort of thing it was good for Roy to be thinking of right now. “I did. But this was not the sort of situation-“

“Aunt Chris told me something similar, when I was a lot younger. I hadn’t even known where babies came from at the time, but I did know if I ever made one, I was expected to be a hell of a lot more than a paycheck. Her threat of what she’d do if I didn’t was also much more explicit than yours.” Roy broke off for a quiet, morose chuckle. “I was almost insulted. I never got where all this lack of confidence in me came from, you know? I know I try to sell that sort of reputation, sometimes, but... my own father left. I saw what it did to my mother- my birth mother, that is. I didn’t need either of you threatening me; I would never have left a woman alone with my child.”

There was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence.

“...and yet... here I am.”

Maes shivered. A lump started to form in his throat.

He forced himself to level his gaze on Roy’s back, loosely clasping his hands together and letting the file fall back to the desk, ignored. “You know as well as I do that sometimes, life gives you a problem and there’s no right way out of it, Roy. If you’re wanting me to punch you down a flight of stairs now, then I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. I’m not going to tell you what to do, but there’s nothing you can do here that can make this right, Roy.” He waited for several seconds, hoping to use the pause to drive the words home. “And that is not your fault.”

Roy chuckled again, still morose, still quiet, but didn’t say anything.

And this time, after yet another dark period of thick, painful quiet, Maes did the only thing he could do, and pushed to his feet to change the subject.

He grabbed the abandoned bundle of pajamas on the floor, tossing them over at the formless lump under the blankets. “Get dressed. You’re cold.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been shivering for the past half hour, Roy.”

Roy shifted a little, but did not turn away from the wall, or even unfurl. He barely even twitched his half-visible head. “...You counted.”

Maes grinned, for all the good it would do, aimed at his back like this. At least one of them might as well be smiling. “Well, yeah. Not much else to do around here. But get dressed, Roy. You’re going to try eating something again. And even if you’re not hungry, _I_ am, so don’t complain about it.”

Oh, he had no doubt that Roy wasn’t hungry. Roy had the peculiar- disturbing- ability to just _focus_ on something, focus so single-mindedly, so intensely, he forgot about the most basic of his body’s needs. It had been somewhat endearing, almost adorable in the Academy, watching the little nerd boy he’d been roomed with bury himself in alchemy research to the point it had been two days since he’d been to the mess hall and he didn’t even realize.

It wasn’t endearing or adorable now.

His friend just lay there at first, clearly extraordinarily unbothered by the request. He didn’t move to even grab the clothes, though Maes could still see him shivering. When he finally did turn over, it wasn’t to look at him or get out of bed. He just finally unfurled to flop and lie loosely, long-limbed, blankets still pulled up high and only just revealing bare shoulders. He stared up at the ceiling, dark eyes distant and barely focused, and disinterestedly wormed a pale arm out from under the covers, burying his fingers in the cotton bundle bunched haphazardly beside him.

He still wouldn’t look at Maes.

“How much did she tell you?” he asked at last, still a calm, almost coldly detached monotone. “About what I did to her?”

“...I don’t think now’s really the best time to discuss it.”

Roy’s fingers worked ceaselessly, burying themselves deeper in the clothes. Beyond them, he was perfectly, unnervingly still- and his expression, perfectly, unnervingly calm.

Maes really didn’t like that look about him.

And when he started speaking again, Maes knew that his forebodings had been right, and he really didn’t want to hear what was coming next.

“One of Master’s more liked buyers got bored with what he was being offered. He decided he wanted to watch, instead- and as I said, he was very well liked, so Master decided to indulge him. I was really the only man there, so I was pretty much a shoe in. I’m not sure how they picked Melissa. Maybe because they realized we were friends and wanted to break that- god, I don't know. Probably it was at random... but, it’s not as if I was allowed in on that discussion.”

Maes winced. He leaned forward in his chair, trying to meet Roy’s eyes, then settling for just watching him, when Roy still would not look at him. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to, Roy,” he said gently.

But this did not stop him.

Truth be told, Maes had never had high hopes that it even would.

“She- Melissa, that is- sorry. I never even knew that was her name until yesterday. Sorry. I...” He shook his head tiredly, gaze still only for the ceiling, but the drawn shadows across his face chased away now by a faint, wistful _smile_. “She was always nice to me. I was pretty stubborn, and fought way too much for my own good. I was punished a lot, and more often than not didn’t earn anything to eat. She... felt sorry for me, I guess. There wasn’t really anything she could do, but she did talk to me, a lot- took my mind off things." His voice wavered slightly, just the smallest of cracks as it turned small, tiny like a young child's, and his smile wavered right after it. "I liked her a lot.”

Maes' heart sank.

He didn't want to hear this, he didn't want to hear this, he _didn't want to hear this-_

Roy went quiet for a moment, listless voice trailing off as he picked aimlessly at a spare thread, dark eyes unfocused and _miserable_. “I wanted to find out what happened to her when I got back, actually. Her and a few others- but I never knew their real names, and even then, I couldn’t. I was in the hospital for the longest time, and I didn’t want you digging into any records for me- I knew Archer was watching you and I wanted you as far away from the case as I could manage. And then it just took so many weeks to take care of Archer, and there was so much to deal with at the time, I... I just...”

Maes stared, his heart clenching. God, Roy couldn't be blaming himself even _more_. Not this. Not _now._ “I’m pretty sure it’s all right you didn’t think to look her up,” he said gently. “You had a hell of a lot on your mind at the time.”

Roy sighed again. “Something tells me she didn’t forget about me,” he pointed out cruelly, an eyebrow raised, and Maes’ chest clenched again.

“Roy...”

His friend shifted, eyes averted still and faint smile fading. “Well, they picked her, and really had no choice but to pick me. And they didn’t even bother to threaten me at first... once again, I’m a little insulted. They just sat us down and told me I was supposed to fuck her. Then had the gall to look offended when I wouldn’t do it! Like he’d actually expected me to just- just off and _do that_ to someone just because he said go." He cursed to the ceiling, fingers kneading desperately into his blanket as his breaths caught, something on his pale face twisting and not letting go. "I mean... how much of a piece of _trash_ do you have to be for someone to think you would do something so horrible, just like that-? I don’t know, I guess it’s a good thing they asked the Hero of Ishval, I’m known for following despicable orders without quest-“

“You’re _known_ for doing what you have to do to survive," he cut in fiercely. "You’ve been giving orders for almost ten years and taking them for even longer; and I’ve never seen you hurt anyone innocent unless you had absolutely no choice in the matter, Roy." Maes leaned forward, gaze drilling through him with all the strength he could muster and barely resisting the urge to get right up out of the chair and storm over to shake the truth into him. “Melissa even told me you didn’t have a choice. She could’ve left that out, had every chance to vilify you to me, but she didn’t. That should say something to you, Roy.”

The colonel finally glanced over at him, one eyebrow raised almost past his messy hairline. His dark eyes were unreadable, but definitely not open to persuasion, and after several moments the man just smirked, pale face twisting with a sick, black sort of self-loathing. “Well, there was a gun,” he sighed. “I can’t pretend that there wasn’t. They didn’t even waste any time trying to punish me for saying no. That... came later, but, when I told them I wouldn’t, one just got his weapon out, pointed it at her head, and told me unless I wanted to watch her die, I had better get busy.” He paused, burying his hands even deeper into the shirt pooled across the bed. His voice was still almost disturbingly calm, as were his eyes when he glanced at Maes again, but there was a hint of anger in them now, finally a twist of grievous rage spreading in the once dead black.

“I think that bothered me more than it should have,” he muttered darkly. “I had to be willing, obviously- but it made no difference to them whether she was or not. They didn’t bother to even ask her, or point a gun at _my_ head and tell _her_ she had a choice. She was just a piece of meat to them. I mean, of course it didn’t matter to them if she consented or not, but- you understand what I’m saying?” He sighed frustratedly, gesturing as if annoyed with his own inability to get across what he felt in words. “I was nothing to them, barely even an animal, but... she was even less than that.”

Maes forced himself to give an offhanded shrug, but his jaw clenched so tightly it nearly hurt when his teeth ground together. “They were inhuman monsters, all of them. I’m not sure my opinion of them can get any lower, at this point.”

Roy chuckled dryly again, returning his focus to the ceiling. “I’m sure they’ll just be crushed.” He fidgeted slowly, scratching incessantly at the sheets. “It... it happened six times. I told my aunt that, right? They had me do it to her six times, they kept coming back for days until they just- just _stopped..._ don’t think it was a week later when you found us. She... she’d quit talking to me, Maes. I told you, she used to talk to me all the time, but after even the first time she wouldn’t even look at me.” For the first time, uncertain emotion wavered on the unsteady words, barely choked back pain present just underneath the surface, and his hands, once deceptively calm and loose, clenched spasmodically, twitching until his fingers were clenched and shaking. “I’m not- _blaming_ her, god, she had every right, I just... I should’ve realized... I should’ve figured it out, you know?”

He hesitated, something in the weak, almost broken words making him dearly not want to know. And yet he went on anyway, asking because it was Roy, and he’d realized long ago his only choice was to listen no matter how much he so often did not want to hear it. “Figured out what?”

Roy lay still, one arm flopped over his head, the other still fidgeting with the bundle of clothes over his chest. He looked deceptively loose and calm, even with that shadow of lingering pain tormenting his face and his voice, like a slumbering monster creeping claw by claw to take over him until he was crushed by it. “That she waned me to stop. That she... w-wanted...”

Maes sighed heavily. This, again. But he had the feeling it was going to be _this, again_ for a very, very, very long time. “It wasn’t your-“

“No, she _wanted_ me to _stop._ She told me that! On the phone, she said she wished I had killed her! I know what that means, Maes-“ With a broken gasp, the colonel pushed himself onto his side, curling up once more, arms retreating back to hug himself under the covers. His masked facade was breaking apart fast, and Maes knew he should do _something_ but felt himself at an utter loss as his friend went on, the anguished words lurching through the air. “She wished I’d let them shoot her instead. She wanted me to stop, even knowing what that meant for her... and she still wanted that. She’d... oh, god, Maes.” He pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes shut tight in sudden devastation. “I made the wrong choice. I was s-supposed to... let them kill her.”

“ _Roy.”_ Somewhere between fed up and horrified, Maes stood and grabbed the back of his chair, dragging it over to he could finally sit and look him eye-to-eye, refusing to allow his best friend to hide any longer. He reached out and pulled his hand back, not letting Roy hide his face behind it either and instead pinning it down, interlacing his fingers through his. “Look at me, and be honest. Could you have lived with yourself, if you’d watched them do that to her when you could have stopped it?”

Roy jerked violently. His eyes went wide, whole body stiffening like he’d just been smacked across the face. His head twisted, dark eyes locking right onto his in a venomous, shocking glare.

Then he lunged upright like a cornered animal, and his hand jerked forward so fast Maes could not even dodge in time.

_Smack!_

“Does it look like I can live with myself _now,_ Maes?!” he roared. “ _Does it look like I can live with myself now?!”_

For several long seconds, there was silence, except for the rough, ragged gasp of his best friend’s panting breaths. Neither moved. Maes didn’t even breathe.

Roy jerked again. His eyes widened again, this time not in anger, but in _fear._ He lurched backwards, scrambling away until his back hit the wall, the blankets only still covering him by some accidental miracle. He was pale and shaking again, trembling so hard he could barely control himself and gone from angry to _terrified_ in only a second. “M- Maes-“ he choked, “I’m sorry- I- I’m sorry-“

One shaking, scarred hand was already pressed to the wall, his fingers stretched over the nearest array that he had. Maes could already feel the air starting to heat up, the cold of before erased away as a stifling warmth burst to life around him. The lines of the array glowed ominously, gently crackling an electric blue in the very beginning of an uncontrolled reaction, the pale light flickering along his haunted, stricken face. “Maes, I’m sorry- I d-didn’t... _mean_ to, I... I’m s-sorry-“

He was shaking still, trembling violently- but his hand never so much as left the array. It never even moved a single inch away from the carved lines, and with each passing second, the silence punctuated by sobbed, scared apologies... and the air around him continued to heat up.

Maes knew he would have to be very, very careful right now.

“Roy,” he murmured, holding his hands up. There were no fires, not yet, but Maes wasn’t about to wait around for them to come. He moved back a few steps, drawing away until he’d escaped the blast of suddenly heated air, but the distance didn’t seem to have helped at all. The colonel was still gasping, clutching at the array like it was his lifeline and staring at him like he expected to be struck... or worse.

Maes knew better than to try and remove his hand from the array.

“Roy,” he said quietly again, just that, his name. Slowly, he lowered a hand to wipe his sleeve across his face, and risked looking away just long enough to check. No blood. He hadn’t even broken the skin. “I’m fine.” He met Roy’s eyes, then looked pointedly to the array on the wall, trying to point out without words what he was doing and what he had to stop.

It took several seconds longer for him to finally snap out of it, some of the stricken, instinctual terror fading away at last as he came back to himself. He was still pale as a sheet and shaking, no part of him looking anything close to _okay,_ but the air was already cooling down again and the array had stopped glowing- even if his hand remained clenched so tightly over the scratched circle that his knuckles were white.

After a few moments, Maes just lowered his hands and looked away, using every bit of his strained self control that he still had to stay calm and backed away from his friend. “I’m going to go,” he said again, gesturing lamely back out towards what Roy called a kitchen. “Fix something to eat. You should come with, when you can.” He wanted to stay with him, more than anything- it almost physically hurt to just turn his back on the pale, trembling form huddled there on the bed, knowing the state he was leaving his best friend in, knowing he shouldn’t be alone right now- but Maes had seen this often enough to know he’d only be making things worse if he stayed.

It wasn’t that Roy actually thought he would hurt him, strike back as punishment or revenge for being struck first. But there was a difference between knowing something was true and actually managing to believe it, and right now Maes knew the best thing was for him to get some time to himself to calm down and be able to convince himself that everything was okay. If Maes tried to stay with him, it would only make everything worse.

As much as it hurt, there were some things Roy was better off dealing with alone, and this was one of them.

Maes retreated reluctantly back to Roy’s kitchen, his hands cold and shaking, his heart weary as he fought to block out everything that he was leaving behind. His appetite was all but gone, but he felt a little like too much of a hypocrite to harp on Roy about eating but skip meals himself in the same breath, and Maes just shook his head at himself and dug for the nearest edible thing that his hands could reach. His mouth tasted salty, bitter, and his throat was tight, and his eyes almost stung, but-

God damn it, and that was just par for course, nowadays.

He shut his eyes, slumping against the counter to exhale a deep, shuddering breath. The tension remained coiled tight in his chest, tightening to nearly unbearable levels as his fists clenched around the counter edge so tightly it bit into his palms.

God, he hated this. He hated this so _much._

How were they supposed to go on from here? Roy was- god, he’d never seen him like this before. He’d seen him after Ishval, and he’d been a wreck then, but a _committed_ wreck, at least. Borderline suicidal, caught in a horrible, almost infectious depression, but he’d somehow managed to fix his eyes on a future and even on his very worst days he’d kept moving towards it no matter what. Maes’ work back then had been trying to make his best friend believe he could actually enjoy life again, that it wasn’t wrong for him to not be miserable every waking moment- and it had been hard, always a fight, always approaching unbearable, but he’d done it, hadn’t he? He had. He’d made Roy be okay again, or at least as close to okay as he could’ve been after surviving that meat grinder out in the desert.

Seven months ago…

_Seven months ago…_

Roy had been a living, breathing mess, once they’d saved him. No other words for it. Not _borderline_ suicidal anymore; Maes had hidden his gun and managed to conveniently be in the room every time he shaved, for god’s sake, but that- at least Roy had been _trying,_ right? He’d fought back even as he’d slipped further and further down and he’d accepted Maes’ outstretched hand to try and pull himself out again. He’d been destroyed, the pieces scattered so far and broken so badly they could never be taped back together again but he’d been trying. He’d not truly wanted to die.

He’d not actually given up.

But now?

Maes held back a groan, clutching the counter even tighter for support. Now…

It wasn’t as if Maes was frightened he was going to turn around and find Roy had shot himself or discover him bleeding out on his bedsheets. Drugged into another stupor, maybe, but Roy wasn’t just waiting for the opportunity to end his own life. No, it was more… despairing, than that. More horrible.

It was as if he didn’t know how to exist like this anymore, and was too tired to even want to try.

Maes swallowed tightly, fighting back the anguish growing in his throat.

God, he just wanted Roy to be okay again. He wanted to protect him and somehow take away all his hurt and pain and turn the world into something that could never, _ever_ hurt him this badly again.

_She’s pregnant…_

“Maes?”

He jumped at the hoarse, quiet voice, wiping his own despair and misery from his face in what had just become habit and swiveled back around, a weak facade of a grin arranged right in place even as his hands still shook. Roy was watching him silently from the threshold, a cross between uncomfortable and anxious even while his eyes remained cold and unreadable, complexion as white as cold snow.

Well, at least he was here.

 _At least he got dressed again,_ he remarked to himself morbidly.

Forcibly holding himself together, feeling a little like his attempts to stay in control was like watching a handful of sand drain through his fingertips, Maes grabbed the one sandwich he’d supposedly spent all this time making and ripped it jerkily in half, holding one part out to Roy. Roy looked at it expressionlessly for several moments, all but unfathomable, then just reached out silently and took it.

Maes knew well enough by now not to allow himself the huge sigh of relief that he so desperately wanted to give.

Roy sat down silently, breaking his gaze tiredly to pick at the crusts with an extreme lack of interest. “Sorry,” he murmured curtly, folding a bit of torn bread into a neat little ball. He frowned at it for several moments, staring at it like it held all the answers to life itself- not that Roy would've cared if it did... And then the colonel just sighed and slipped the bite into his mouth, all still without looking at him.

Maes sighed as well, sitting down across from him. He had as little of an appetite as he imagined Roy did, but figured if he ate, Roy would keep eating as well, and even that aside, he just wanted to accept the olive branch and enjoy this brief interlude of peace- no matter how momentary he was sure it was.

After several minutes passed in uncomfortable silence- Roy, steadily mutilating crusts at a pace that would’ve put a sloth to shame- his best friend cleared his throat again. “Maes?” he asked quietly again, this time waiting until he looked at him to continue on. “I think you missed some glass, in my arm.” He nodded down at the sloppy rush job of bloodied gauze cushioning his elbow. “I’d get it myself, but I think that’d require dislocating my shoulder so I could reach.”

Maes managed a half-hearted sort of smirk, nodding back. “Sure.” He was just grateful Roy was actually willingly asking for his help- that, and was talking about the scratches on his arm without, evidently, thinking about just how he’d gotten them.

He eyed the two halves of the sandwich for a moment, hesitating, then just crammed another bite in before standing, hoping Roy would follow his lead. He really didn’t want to have to keep on nagging his best friend to eat; this would get ugly fast for both of them if he had to keep arguing with Roy, and Maes only wanted to help him here, not hurt him. Thankfully, Roy did seem to be watching him, because after a moment of calm examination, his best friend just stood up and carried the food with him, turning his back to lead the way.

Maes followed Roy silently back through his apartment, Roy muttering something about finding a pair of tweezers for him to work with. Roy led the way through the dusty hall and veered left, leading the way into his bathroom to dig around in the cabinet. Maes started to lean against the wall, watching him-

Then froze.

“Um… Roy?” he murmured, staring blankly at the sight that had awaited him.

“Yes?” Roy asked coolly. He sounded and looked so utterly disinterested that Maes might as well have just been a pebble underneath his shoe.

“What is… um. …That?”

Roy shrugged, still not even looking at him as he hunted through the cabinet. For god’s sake, he was acting as if Maes was talking about a passing moth or a peeling paint chip. “That?” he drawled.

Maes barely stopped himself from gaping at him. “ _That!”_ he repeated emphatically, stabbing a finger at the bathroom mirror.

Or, what had once been a bathroom mirror, anyway.

It rested on the floor, propped up against the doorframe, and the scratches and torn holes in both it and the wall, Maes was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to have been able to be taken down. It was splintered and cracked and in a few places, even smeared with blood, and in amazing display of nonchalantness, his best friend seemed to have tried to just hide it with old, fading newspapers- perhaps he just wanted to hide his reflection, because newspaper or no Maes could still see the damn thing, right there on the damn floor.

Given the dates he could glimpse on some of those old, crinkled newspapers, the few bits of which that were visible split with spiderweb cracks, Maes was pretty sure the mirror hadn’t served such a function in at least five months.

“Ah, yes,” Roy drawled again. _“That.”_ He dusted a hand off on his pants and straightened up, turning to fix Maes with a flat, emotionless stare and one arced eyebrow. “That, which is not your business in any way, _that?_ Or, were you referring to something else?”

Maes actually did gape at him this time, staring between the mirror and his infuriating best friend. “You…” Squeezing his eyes shut, Maes forced out an exhausted breath and kept his temper in check by an act of god, refusing to let himself lose control now. Arguing with Roy- what this was shaping up to become- was, as he’d already decided, not something he wanted to do now. Roy had every right to be hostile after what he’d just been through; Maes didn’t have to entertain it and make it worse. “Fine,” he snapped back, holding his hands up in surrender. “Not my business.”

Roy waited for several moments, eyes narrowed, head tilted, just examining him as if waiting for the hammer to drop. When it never did he just moved on ahead, sniffing slightly, remains of a sandwich in one hand and tweezers in the other, and it took every last bit of Maes’ self control to let him go, and not turn this into an argument.

God damn it, Roy was going to give him a heart attack before he was forty and be right there in the hospital when he woke up, snide, smartass comment right at the ready.

It took Maes a few moments more to calm down enough to give him a response that wasn’t hostile, just trying to keep Roy talking, keep his mind off things he shouldn’t be thinking about. “You’re going to need to get Ed and Al to alchemize this place right out of hell if you don’t want the damage bills to bankrupt you, you know.”

Roy snorted disinterestedly, dropping to sit back down at his kitchen table like a sack of potatoes. “Or I could just blow it up and blame Scar. He’s still crawling around, right? I see no reason why I shouldn’t scapegoat the serial killer to save my bank account.”

“Brilliant, Roy. That’s the solution here. Instead of a cleaning crew, let’s just commit arson instead. Hold still.”

Roy made a sour face at him but acquiesced, perfectly still as Maes carefully rolled up his sleeve to slide it past the gauze and deep scratches. He frowned at the marks, not for the first time today counting himself lucky that he wasn’t going to have to bust out medic courses from the academy and attempt a row of stitches. The cuts were deep, and Roy was right- littered with little bits of glass that were going to be hell to get out, and had surely been even more of a hell to get in there.

He knew he couldn’t blame Roy for it, though.

Technically self-inflicted, maybe, but… _considering the circumstances…_

Maes swallowed, sobering, stomach turning again with sadness, and went back to picking at Roy’s arm in silence.

Roy, at least, was being admirably cooperative through all of this- miles more than he had been just earlier today. Maes wasn’t sure what to thank for the change but was grateful regardless. He really just wanted to get Roy as calm as he could and keep him there for as long as possible; at some point, they were going to have to talk about Melissa and the baby again, it was just unavoidable- but, god, could he be blamed for wanting to spare Roy the subject?

Maybe it was postponing the inevitable. Maybe it was even cruel, a little; they both knew the subject wasn’t going anywhere, the longer it loomed over them the worse it would be, and did it matter, anyway? This would never be over for Roy. _Ever._ And to some extent, for Maes, too, since he sure as hell was not going to leave Roy to try and deal with this alone- but Roy would _never_ escape this. What did it matter if they talked about it right now, in the next hour, or a week from now? It wasn’t going away for Roy.

No matter what they did here, it wouldn’t change the fact that he now had a child out there somewhere. A child that Roy had had no choice in bringing into existence, and with a mother who couldn’t so much as face him. There was no easy solution to this… maybe no solution at all.

Certainly not one that Maes could see.

Maes kept silent as he carefully cleaned Roy’s arm, quietly grateful this was going as well as it was. The man wasn’t even twitching as he poked and prodded around, and though he was trying to be careful he knew it had to hurt, at least a little- but he wouldn’t know it, looking at Roy. He was utterly still and perfectly calm, and for all that they’d been arguing earlier, Roy didn’t seem all that annoyed with him now. Whatever had prompted the change, he was grateful for it.

Roy cleared his throat at some point, glazed, dull eyes still fixed on the table in a quiet, unwavering stare. “I’m sorry for… this morning.” He cleared his throat again, seeming to be trying quite hard to keep his voice calm and steady. “I’ll… be fine now.”

Maes hesitated, watching his face for a beat before returning focus to his arm. “I’m sure you will be. I think you might want to give some thought into calling out of work for the next few days, though.”

As he’d expected, Roy just shook his head flatly; this time, Maes wisely kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t happy, but Roy doing desk work wasn’t the end of the world, really. Hawkeye would keep an eye on him. Maybe once before, it would’ve been crucial that he kept Roy out of the office until he was in a better state of mind; one wrong word to one wrong superior officer was all that would’ve been needed to derail promotion plans for a year or more-

But, he thought unhappily, with a sad twist to his stomach, it wasn’t as if that really mattered anymore.

While Maes was finishing up, he cast another worried eye up and down Roy’s still form. His best friend wasn’t just admirably calm; he was _freakishly_ calm. For a man Maes had walked in on caught in some sort of mental breakdown just this morning, who’d been wavering in and out of hysteria all day, he was tolerating being painfully poked and prodded oddly well. In fact, looking at him now, he realized this was easily the calmest Roy had been all day. Before he’d always been shaking, somehow; just a little but it was still there, a trembling in his scarred hands, fingers tapping, stiff shoulders twitching under blankets no matter how hard he tried to hide it- an ever-present movement thrumming through him like he was a glass just about to overspill and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Now, however, Roy just sat there so perfectly still it was eerie.

The colonel let out a small, calculated little yawn. He lifted his free hand up, inspecting fingernails and metal fingers alike with an air of cool collectedness, radiating such calm disinterest that it was impossible. That it was ludicrous. That it was…

Maes’ eyes widened.

It wasn’t real.

“…Roy,” he began slowly. He silently bit down on his tongue to hold back the whiplash of anger from breaking into his voice, holding perfectly still and restrained himself. He picked off the last piece of glass, gave the pale arm one more once-over, then all but slapped a final piece of gauze to his skin and taped it down. Roy may not be so willing to let him touch him after this. “You took something, didn’t you?”

“Take something?” Roy asked back, with a such a careless air it was all but infuriating. He kept on staring at his fingernails in a manner so _annoying_ Maes almost wanted to slap him. “This morning? Yes, Maes, I did; I thought we’d already been over this.”

Maes glared harder at him. “I think we both know that’s not what I’m asking about.”

“We _both_ know? You shouldn’t assume such ridiculous things, Maes. Isn’t that a rather bad habit for an investigator?” He smirked a little, still inspecting his scarred hand. “I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

He half seethed, half gaped, almost unable to believe it. The laissez faire attitude, the blazingly unconcerned look in his eyes, the way he just sat there picking at metal fingers like he’d never even heard of having something better to do… Maes stared harder, eyes widening when he realized Roy’s free hand was pressed casually against a fucking _array_ , just sitting over there innocently carved into his table. Roy didn’t look frightened or even on edge, no, just casually sitting with his hand draped over a life-threatening array, like it was just _habit,_ habit to drug himself and then just sit there and smirk while cradling a lethal weapon-

His stomach turned when he realized it probably _was_ habit for him, and somehow, that made this even worse.

“You- you know _exactly_ what-“ Maes broke off, almost shaking in anger, staring at his inscrutable, infuriating best friend as he worked the day over in his mind. “When I left you alone in your room! You took something then, didn’t you? _Didn’t you?!”_

“Hmm?” Roy drawled, with a smirk that should’ve been labeled a lethal weapon for making the enemy implode with frustration all by itself. “I don’t know what you mean, Maes.”

_You sanctimonious son of a bitch…_

Seething furiously, Maes shot to his feet and straight past Roy, all but knocking his chair to the ground with an errant hand as he stormed back to Roy’s bedroom. He heard his best friend follow him but paid him no mind, stalking away to re-enter the messy, array-scarred, horrifying room that did a damn good job of reminding him of Roy’s bloody apartment after Ishval and not much else. Half-mad with anger he set himself on the bed first, ripping the blankets off and scratching at the sheets, tearing into the pillowcase, digging under the mattress all in a desperate search for the truth. _Where is it, where is it, where is it-_

“Something the matter, Maes?” Roy asked coolly, leaning against the doorframe with a blasé attitude just begging to be smacked out of him.

“Where is it? Where the _hell_ is it?!”

“Is what, Maes?” Roy murmured, smirking again. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

“Your stash!”

“My stash? Oh, I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Maes? You’re the one acting as if you’ve taken some-“

“Your _stash,_ you idiotic, moronic- _idiot!”_ Maes shot back upright and across the room, grabbing Roy by the collar to half-hurl him up against the wall and pin him there. Roy barely even _reacted_ , just kept on staring at him through half-lidded, utterly bored, almost lifeless eyes, not even flinching when Maes pushed at him again, fingers digging into his chest. “You stupid _bastard_. I know you have one! I know you’re hiding one in here somewhere; tell me where! Damn it, Roy, _now!”_

Roy didn’t answer him verbally at all, just staring at him dully, mouth flat, head tilted, face expressionless. He couldn’t have looked like he cared less if Maes had just slapped him in the face with a truckload of the dullest paperwork on earth. He stared motionlessly back at Maes, pale face unfathomable, completely and totally unbothered-

And as Maes watched, the colonel still unearthly still, unearthly calm... and his dark eyes flickered for just a split second over to the wall.

Maes glared.

“Here?” he asked back, releasing his bastard of a best friend to stalk over to where Roy had looked, brushing his fingers over the rough wall, all marked with arrays. He saw Roy stiffen, almost imperceptibly but it was there, and pressed harder, staring back at the wall. Here. It was here, somewhere. Where-?

Maes searched harder, staring over the uneven, scratched wall. Roy’s new flame array was all over it, circle after circle after circle, so many of them Maes had really just stopped looking at them after a while, but now…

 _There,_ he realized, eyes widening. He looked it over again, staring at the new circle and comparing it to all the rest- yes, _here._ The circle was different. Glowering, Maes smacked his hand against it and swiveled back around towards Roy, who was now standing very uncomfortably in the doorway to his room, arms folded and looking anywhere but at him. “Open it.”

Roy’s glare was so cold it could’ve killed a puppy. “No.”

“Open it.”

“ _No.”_

Maes raised an eyebrow, half-wishing he could just glare the stupid bastard into submission. He was as petulant as a teenager and as stubborn as a three year old and as infuriating as his mother-in-law, and he was really _this_ god damn close to snapping and- _“No?”_ he quoted, seething. “No? Okay, then, Mustang-“ Maes twisted, so angry he was almost seeing red, and slapped his hand down on the array.

The circle crackled at him angrily, the blue light uneven, the wall creaking. All Maes really got out of it was a splinter, but the visuals were the goal, here, and he pressed his hand against the array again, fighting to get it to open.

The wall cracked a little again, wood starting to splinter, groaning at him if still refusing to open up. Well, if Roy hadn’t already had a stack of damage bills before, he certainly would have now. Hissing in frustration, Maes touched the array again, trying to get the symbols to work with him, but again only got the paint to chip and the circle to spark uselessly at him, like a live wire. Roy sputtered dumbly behind him, for the first time all day actually sounding taken aback, surprised, and Maes turned back around to face the stunned alchemist, raising a triumphant eyebrow.

“Oh, did I never tell you?” he deadpanned, hand still pressed against the array. “My mother signed me up for alchemy lessons when I was a little kid. Long before I met you. I was pretty worthless at it, as I remember; way more interested in sports than playing in the basement with a chemistry set, unlike _some_ of us socially stunted freaks,” he glared pointedly, darkly, “but, I remember just enough to get this circle to work for me, I think.” He pressed his hand against it again, and, _ow,_ the wood was almost burning his hand now and still not opening up as it was supposed to, peeling some more paint, spilling some more wood chips… “Well, I guess I’ll get through it eventually, won’t I…?”

It was Roy’s turn to look furious, fists clenching, entire form stiffening like a bowstring pulled taut. “You-“ he hissed, eyes blazing. “Son of a bitch, Maes- stop before you burn my apartment down! You stupid-“ Practically stomping across the room himself, Roy dropped to his knees next to him and slapped his hand aside, pressing his own palm to the circle.

It opened next to effortlessly, which wasn’t the nicest blow to his pride, but Maes would just take what he could get, at this point. He brushed Roy’s stubborn hands aside to dig his own grip into the space behind the wall, frowning at the hidden cabinet to yank out one, two, _three_ sealed pill bottles, each one rattling, their tiny white contents bouncing as he closed his fists around them and shifted back to glare at Roy. “Where’s the rest?”

“What rest?”

“The _rest,_ you unbelievable idiot.” Maes shook one of his closed fists at the man, heart skipping a beat at the sound of all the pills rattling inside. “I know you have more. Where are they?”

“There’s no others, Maes,” Roy hissed back, voice cold as ice, black eyes staring hard away from him, hands clenched into tight fists.

“And I was born yesterday. Where the hell are you hiding the rest, Roy?!”

“There are no _others.”_ Roy stood again, turning his back with an air of aggravation so potent Maes was half surprised he hadn’t ended up being punched. “Now, either get out of my apartment immediately, or I’m calling the police.”

Maes was now doubly sure Roy had more pills hidden somewhere, if perhaps not in this room; he was also now triply sure that he wasn’t going anywhere. “Yeah?” he prodded back. “And with what phone will you do that?”

Roy stiffened as if he’d been slapped. For just a moment, just a heartbeat, hurt and memory of fear flickered through his black eyes, just enough for the real Roy to shine through the acerbic exterior- and more than enough for Maes to regret his words.

And then it was gone, and Roy’s harsh, angry facade was back, arms folded, fists shaking all over again. He turned his back and headed off in an angry stomp again, leaving Maes alone in his room before he could stop him.

And Maes, with a long, heavy sigh, just let him go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up on Tuesday; see you then!


	10. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments/kudos!
> 
> A warning for this chapter: this is probably the most explicit things get all fic. It's still only Roy talking about it, and technically it's not enough to qualify for even an MA-rating, but considering the subject matter I felt a warning would be prudent.
> 
> ALSO ALSO there was another fic posted for this verse last night, [A Cup of Chamomile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17504210) by YAJJ and if you're all angst-ed out by this you should /go read it right now/ because it's all fluffy and warm and super great and thank youuuuuu SO much for writing it, YAJJ!

Things did not go well, after that.

Roy wouldn’t talk to him, or if he did, it was as curt and cold as possible. The only progress he'd made at all was that he'd quit standing up to leave the room whenever Maes so much as got near him, at last seeming to understand he was just going to be followed wherever he went- but that didn’t mean he was cordial about it all.

Maes was past caring, really.

He just wanted this to be over.

He’d found one of Roy’s stashes. He remained horribly, horribly convinced that there were still more, and if he left Roy alone, his best friend would have zero hesitation about downing as many as he could fit down through his throat and they’d have to start this detox all over again.

Or worse.

Maes still wasn’t sure what he was going to do, when he’d gotten that shit out of his best friend’s system and the withdrawal- because it was undeniable now, Roy was fully in withdrawal and hating every moment of it- was over. What good would all of this even accomplish, after all, if the second Maes left the bastard just hunted out another source? Even if Maes was pretending otherwise to Roy right now, he knew just as well as the colonel did he just could not be with him every second of every day. If Roy wanted to take something? Well… he eventually would get the opportunity. He eventually would.

Maes laughed bitterly, shutting his eyes and rubbing a shaking hand over his face.

That was the case for all of this, though, wasn’t it?

If Roy wanted to spend the rest of his life drugging himself into oblivion, he eventually would get the opportunity, and take it. Maes couldn’t stop him.

If Roy wanted to get blackout drunk and never have to have another thought again, he eventually would get that opportunity and take it, too. Maes couldn’t stop him.

If Roy wanted to hurt himself? If he wanted to cut his own throat?

Maes wouldn’t be there with him for every sharp object that lay waiting. Someday, Roy would find one, and if he wanted to use it, he just would.

As much as it terrified Maes to admit otherwise, he could only help Roy as much as Roy was wiling to be helped. And right now, he just didn’t want to be helped.

After that incident on the first day, Maes had refused to leave Roy alone anywhere except the bathroom; even that only after he had combed through that damn place from top to bottom, throwing out every single pill he could find- probably a dozen or so Aspirin as well as the anti-anxiety and sleeping pills, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Roy was obviously ticked off, and growing more so by the hour, but Maes wasn’t backing down.

Roy had already shown he had no problems with taking advantage of even a moment alone to ruin all his efforts, after all.

And what was more, now that he was starting to see just what happened when Roy _didn’t_ take those pills? He could hardly even blame him.

On the first full day of his enforced detox, Tuesday, Roy had all but punched him out of the way so he could get dressed in uniform. Despite the fact he’d managed _maybe_ one hour of sleep total, and jerked out of it screaming so loudly it had hurt Maes’ ears. Despite Maes all but begging him to just allow himself a week off and _stay home,_ for god’s sake. Despite the fact that he’d looked so jumpy and stricken and frightened he probably wasn’t of the right mind to get through even a single file of paperwork, never mind a whole stack of it.

At his wit’s end, Maes had just given up, and told Roy if he could make the drive into work- then fine. He could go to work.

They’d barely made it two blocks before Roy’s hands, shaking so much, had nearly plowed them into a mail box.

Maes had driven them back to his apartment in silence.

It had only taken that one day for Maes to start to see just why Roy had started taking those damn pills in the first place; actually understand it besides _idiot best friend — refuses to learn how to cope — aiming for award for unhealthiest strategies ever._ Of course, Maes couldn’t be sure how much of this was just Roy without those damn pills, and Roy going into withdrawal- but he’d been a _mess_ and it was only day one. Constantly shaking, fidgeting; he literally hadn’t been able to sit still for more than a minute or two before he was up and pacing to another room again; Maes was started to getting exhausted just following him around. Even if sitting down he’d be twitching like Elicia after a sugar binge, except, with Elicia, it was cute if headache-inducing; with Roy it _wasn’t,_ because with Roy there was no sugar crash coming and the nervous energy just kept building and building, and it was obvious Roy hated feeling like that, hated _being_ like that so much he couldn't stand it…

Sometimes, it broke over in panic attacks, and those were infinitely worse than the twitching.

Even more so by the fact that Roy, instead of letting Maes help him, would stagger to lock himself in his bathroom to break down in private- for the sole purpose of getting away from Maes.

The one thing worse than listening to his best friend gasp for air and sob like the world was ending, Maes learned that day, was listening to it muffled through a locked door, heart in his throat and stomach sick with guilt, because Roy didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

It could take minutes. Once, it had taken well over an hour of Maes begging and pleading with him through the door to get him to calm down enough to open it, face wet and flushed, hair ragged like he’d tried to yank it out of his own skull, clothes a mess and breaths torn and broken like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

He wouldn’t talk to Maes, then, either. Wouldn’t even look at him.

He would go to bed, then, though. At least there was that, wasn’t it? If there had to be a silver lining in this horrible situation at all, it was that at least he could get some sleep after all of that; maybe not because he was finally calm enough to but instead _exhausted_ enough for it not to matter. Sure, he didn’t sleep for that long, and if the tossing and turning and distressed murmurs were anything to go by, he didn’t sleep that well, either- but he was at least sleeping, and that counted for something, didn’t it?

It had to.

It just _had_ to, because Maes could find nothing else going for him anymore.

Maes wasn’t that surprised when Riza came knocking that first afternoon. After all, neither of them had shown up for work- and with the phone in Roy’s apartment destroyed and his best friend unable to be left alone, there hadn’t been a good way for him to call in for either of them. The sharp, rhythmic knocks came at a little after four, when Roy was occupying himself trembling on the couch and Maes was occupying himself with... well, pretty much just watching him. Roy jumped at the knocks, black eyes opening wide like he’d been shocked, staring at the door like it had just grown a mouth and bitten him. Maes, on the other hand, just sighed, reluctantly working himself to his feet. “That’s probably Hawkeye,” he said quietly, taking just a step over to it.

“H-Hawk-“ Roy stammered, voice rough and horrified. “Hawk-“

It only took a heartbeat for the shaken nerves to eclipse into something approaching panic again. He jumped to his feet, trembling and shaking his head back and forth, day-long silent treatment just tossed aside as he stared at Maes desperately, hands fidgeting like a madman’s and twitching over arrays. “I don’t want to see her.”

Maes sighed again, trying to be understanding. Roy was upset. Roy had barely slept. Roy was unwell. _Patience, Maes..._ “I have to talk to her for at least a few minutes, Roy. She has to be able to cover for us at work.”

“B-but-“ Roy turned, eyes shocked wide as he looked between the door and Maes. For god’s sake, he looked so abruptly scared it was as if he expected Hawkeye to kick in the door and shoot him.

“Buddy,” he tried gently, reaching for him, “it’s just-“

Roy jerked away from his hand like it was a poison, jerking around on his heel like he didn’t even have a choice and bolting away. God damn it- “Roy!” Maes cried, trying to reach after him, but the colonel was too fast, and before Maes had even shaken off his surprise the bathroom door had slammed shut again, quickly followed by the clicking of the lock.

Maes sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

Well, at least there wasn’t anything in there he could take.

The knocks at the door came again, a little slower and more hesitant than before.

Shaking it off as best he could, Maes arranged his face in the most confident smile that he could, and opened the door.

It was Hawkeye, all right. To see someone as self-assured and steady as her was probably the most reassuring thing he’d seen all day.

Then, at the sight of him, her face just fell, and Maes’ own temporary boost in spirit crashed right after it.

“…Lieutenant Colonel,” she greeted uneasily, tired eyes searching over his shoulder, searching, searching for any sign of the one she was looking for. She looked horrible. Not as bad as Roy, but bad enough for him to remember she’d barely slept this weekend either, and while she’d not spent the day looking after a destroyed best friend she _had_ spent the day trying to stay calm while protecting the both of them from superior officers questioning just what the hell was going on.

They were all falling apart today. Roy was just doing the most visible job at it.

“Lieutenant,” he said, nodding, stepping back for her to move in. “I’m glad you came.”

Riza followed him in to look around worriedly, still searching around the ruined, array-scarred apartment for any sign of her colonel. She wasn’t even looking at him.

“He’s back there,” he told her, jabbing a thumb miserably over his shoulder. “I… don’t think he wants to see you.”

Her face fell again.

“It’s- he’s- it’s complicated right now,” he rushed, again trying to force a smile, a smile that was probably so pathetic it did nothing but just made her feel worse. “He’ll barely look at me, either. He’s just… not taking this well.” Maes hesitated, wringing his hands together as he sat back down on Roy’s couch, still trying not to look at the shaken lieutenant. “I’m sorry for not calling you. I wanted to, but there’s no way to from here, and Roy… just can’t… I can’t leave him alone right now,” he sighed, shoulders slumping again.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Riza's eye narrowed, and her careful, analytical gaze drifted towards the back of the apartment again.

Realizing his mistake too late, blaming the lack of sleep for it, Maes quickly shook his head, trying to reassure her. “That’s not- that’s fine. I already… um, checked that room.” He trusted Riza, and Roy did, too, but even given the current circumstances, it would just be wrong to tell her about Roy’s… problem. He waved her off, trying to give her another reassuring smile, and relaxed back into the couch, fighting to at least help her feel at ease even if he was the furthest thing from it.

“So,” he started, clenching his hands together. “Long story short… I think Roy and I are going to need the week off work.” He hesitated, unsure of whether to punctuate that statement with a smile or not. “If it helps, he actually is- sick.”

It depended on the technical definition of the word, sure. But he was pretty sure Roy was bad enough off to qualify, right now.

Riza frowned, glancing curiously over his shoulder again to where Roy had sequestered himself. “Hughes…”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant; really, I am. I can’t tell you more than that without breaking his confidence.”

The lieutenant looked back to him, silent for one long moment, shutting her eyes as if the words had almost physically pained her. At first, it was just that; Riza sitting there silently and perfectly still with her eyes shut, face creased into something that was almost impassive- but he knew her well enough to see the hurt there.

“…Got it,” she said at last, voice low and thick. “One week of medical leave for you both. I’ll arrange it.”

Maes’ heart clenched again. Roy wasn’t there to feel guilty for it, and even if he had been, his best friend already harbored enough guilt to power a small country; for this- for that withdrawn, quietly sorrowful look on Riza's face, Maes would accept all the regret and guilt for. “Lieutenant…”

“And I’m assuming you need someone to inform your family, too?” she asked crisply, opening her eyes finally only to avert her gaze, hands clenching in her lap. It looked like it was taking nearly all of her impressive self-control to stay calm and steady; even so, the question was far too close to being called out for his liking.

It would’ve been worse, had he not known he deserved it.

Maes looked away, swallowing tightly, saying nothing. He couldn’t admit it aloud, but… well, she was right, wasn't she? The both knew it. He hadn’t even spoken to Gracia since Sunday evening, the night Roy had gone missing, a desperate call from a pay phone telling her he was going to be out all night, telling her he was sorry, asking her if Roy showed up there to just _please_ keep him there until they could deal with him...

He’d been in such a panic, Maes remembered, a sickening feeling grasping at his stomach, such a _rush_ , he couldn’t even remember if he’d told her he loved her.

Now, he wouldn’t even be able to go home for days. Wasn’t even able to so much as _talk_ to her to explain…

And he didn't have a choice.

He hated it had to be this way. He _hated_ it. He hated that it’d been this way for months now; that sometimes he had to neglect his family and be here instead- because he loved Roy but couldn’t to the point that it hurt his family, but, that was what was happening here anyway, wasn’t it? Roy wasn’t more important than his daughter, nothing could ever be that...

But the scales just weren’t balanced.

If he spent this week here, if he didn’t see his wife and daughter for a week- it was a slight and insult to Gracia, but one she would forgive and, more importantly, understand, and that Elicia might not understand now but would forget about in a few week’s time, and that he could spend the next months making up to them.

And if he spent the week at home, and only checked in on Roy for an hour or two after work?

Given how things were right now, Maes wasn’t entirely convinced Roy would make it past the week alive.

The scales weren’t balanced. Maes hated it, and it wasn’t right, and it was so unfair it made his stomach churn- but if his only choices was a lonely, slighted wife and daughter against a dead best friend…

Well, that wasn’t much a choice, was it?

“I’m… sorry, sir,” Hawkeye said abruptly. He jumped, drawn at last out of his miserable reverie just in time to see the guilt flash across her face, features softening into her own restrained, gentle mask of sorrow. “That was uncalled for.”

No, it hadn’t been. At all. Because she was hurting here, too- they all were, and there was no winner, was there? Roy was _miserable_ now, too. If Maes actually let himself think about it he didn’t really, honestly believe Roy had ever been anything _but_ miserable in over a year now no matter what he’d done to try and help him, and he’d be a cray liar to believe Roy would come out of this anything but suicidal, because there was only so much guilt and _hurt_ a person could take, and Roy's limit had to have been passed so long ago...

If Maes let himself _really_ think about it?

He was stunned Roy hadn't already given in under the weight of it already.

Because there was a limit, and Roy had been through so _much._ Maes knew if it had been him in Roy's shoes, he couldn't honestly say he'd have survived it. But Roy had fought through, Roy had _always_ fought his way as _hard_ as he could out of so much pain and torture to make it to where he could finally, _finally_ try to stand up again- enduring so much and Maes was so _proud_ of him-

Only to get violently shoved straight back down to where he'd came from.

And this time, Maes didn't know if he would be strong enough to climb his way back out again.

He didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to even give the slightest consideration that possibility. Roy was his best friend and strong and proud enough to take a bull by the horns. Roy was powerful enough and _good_ enough, from the inside out, to take the world by storm and set it alight to make something even better from the ashes. They'd been fighting for that for years and Roy had been the one to get them there; to take them this far and promise that he would lead them the ways they still had to go. He believed in Roy and even if he couldn't say it to him now, was so damn _proud_ of how far he'd come.

He didn't want to believe that he wasn't strong enough to fight any farther.

That after all he'd fought through, Archer had won after all, and beaten him back so far down, hurt him so _badly,_ that there just wasn't enough in him anymore to keep fighting.

He didn't want to believe it, but in his heart of hearts, no matter how sick with guilt it made him to feel...

At least part of him did.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Riza said suddenly again, and Maes almost jumped, a shaking hand jerking up to rub at his suddenly wet eyes as he tried to look at the lieutenant sitting across from him, but she was not looking back. “For- all of this. I-“ Her voice cracked, and she lifted a trembling hand of her own, carefully covering her mouth and again looking like it was taking all of her considerable self control to keep it together.

“He’s never done this to me before,” she whispered at last, again not meeting his eyes, again not succeeding in keeping her voice steady. She stared past him with a still trembling hand, and for just that one moment, he saw in her that same haunted, despairing woman who had heard her commander declared dead.

“Lieutenant-“

“He doesn’t trust me anymore, Hughes. He _doesn’t.”_ She met his eyes at last, a hard and demanding stare that was brokenhearted all the same. “He can barely even look at me. He won’t face me today, either, right? He can’t even do that? Why-“ Her voice cracked again, but her gaze, this time, held steady; Maes could barely say the same for himself. “I don’t think I’ve had an honest conversation with him since after you two got back from Risembool. That… that was _months_ ago, Hughes.”

Maes all but flinched at the memory of _that_ nightmarish trip, mouth tightening into a silent scowl he couldn’t help as he looked away again. There were many things he wanted to say, and none that would help now. It was too late, really, for many, many things. Anguish and guilt tightened in his throat as he glanced worriedly back over his shoulder, back to where Roy had hidden himself to get away from this confrontation, remembering the look in his best friend's eyes that night, his own sick horror, the nightmares that still sometimes woke him up in a cold sweat of _what if you were too late_...

A great, nearly unbearable weight settled over his shoulders, so heavy he could barely breathe through it. He closed his eyes, shivering from the memory of it, and fought back the pain burning in his chest as desperately hard as he could.

He was tired of playing the silent mediator, here.

He was tired of keeping his mouth shut for the sake of Roy’s confidence, because it was becoming abundantly clear Roy was never going to open his own mouth back up and tell his right hand the truth.

And if Riza was going to be able to help him, then she had to know.

“How much do you know?” he asked quietly, interlacing his hands again. This didn’t stop them from shaking. “About what happened in Risembool?”

Hawkeye stiffened slightly. She blinked, eyes widening, and for a moment, finally, _finally,_ there was something on her face other than the despair of betrayal. “…Nothing,” she said at last, voice innocently confused rather than worried, and Maes sighed again.

_Sorry, Roy. But you’ve had plenty of time to tell her this yourself._

_And she deserves to know._

“You know that all of this… what- _Archer_ did,” he spat coldly. “That it was to stop Roy’s plan for Fuhrer.”

Hawkeye’s own gaze darkened. “…Yes.” Her jaw clenched, and for a splitsecond, there was murder in her eyes.

Maes wasn’t the only one, after all, who wished Roy hadn’t taken his own justice and revenge, because he’d wanted the chance to tear that piece of human garbage apart himself.

“Right,” he coughed uncomfortably, swallowing back the hot wave of familiar anger. Archer was dead. Nothing would be served now, least of all Roy, to get upset at a ghost. “Well. Roy… Roy _knew_ all of that, obviously, but- I don’t think he’d ever really… confronted what that meant, or… accepted it, until Risembool.”

He did not mention Roy’s attempt on his own life. Hawkeye had been left in the dark, but she wasn’t stupid, and she knew Roy’s history- she had to already know it had happened, if not the precise where and when. “Roy’s not-" he started again, meeting her eyes. "Of course he still trusts you, Hawkeye! It’s himself he doesn’t trust. I think that night in Risembool was the first time he’d ever confronted the fact that he’s not… he w-won’t be… Fuhrer. He’s accepted that now, I think, but he… he still doesn’t know what he _is_ going to do. And he feels like he’s betraying you, with that. That he can’t face you until he does.”

Once again, there was heartbreaking murder in her eyes, and once again, Maes knew, it wasn’t towards anyone in this room.

“I wish I’d killed him,” she said quietly, again staring past him.

They all did.

“He won’t listen to me at all on it,” he sighed, shoulders slumping. “I mean, there’s still things he can do. There is still _plenty_ that we can accomplish. Maybe Fuhrer was the easiest path, but that doesn’t make it the _only_ one, and we can still- well.” He held back another groan and rubbed a hand over his face, trying not to give into his exhaustion. “Try telling _him_ that.”

“…I’d like it better if I could if I _could."_

Maes chanced another look at her, and if it was at all possible for him to get more miserable- well, the look on her face right then did the trick.

He’d never realized, somehow, how much this had all been weighing on her. Because she’d just handled it all, always, silently. Because she had been a _godsend,_ these past few months, watching after Roy whether the idiot realized it or not and taking care of everything before he’d even realized there was anything to take care _of,_ being there every moment that Maes could not. But she’d done it like a sniper; always silently, and never seen- Maes wasn’t sure if either he or Roy had ever realized the true extent of how much she had done for them.

They clearly hadn’t realized how much it had been weighing on her.

And, it _was_ inexcusable, that- so much of how things had turned out, was- but too much had happened this past week alone for him to even process the added guilt to bear. “Then you should talk to him about that,” was all he was able to say, bluntly, honestly. “He can’t keep hiding from you forever. Who knows- it might actually help him to hear you tell him he’s being an idiot. God knows he quit listening to me do it years ago.” He managed to crack a weak, crooked sort of a smile, one that he thought he could just see twitching at her mouth in return- and one that died almost instantly, when he thought back to Roy’s current state. “But, what I said before- that still stands, Hawkeye. He really is… not doing well right now. Give him a week or two first. I can’t explain why, that’s another thing you really should ask him yourself, but… just give him a little bit of time, Lieutenant. He really needs it right now.”

Hawkeye sighed quietly, seeming to accept his words without much will to protest, something that Maes could only be grateful for, because he didn’t have the will to argue. She just nodded listlessly, still seeming to have trouble focusing on him as she continued to stare past, exhausted features pale and worn, just as worn as he felt, and Maes started to get up, reaching for her. “Hawkeye, listen to me. I know it seems bad now, but, it’s going to be-“

“It’s not fair of me to hate Melissa, is it?”

Maes, his mouth still open mid-retort, hand still reaching for her mid-word, stopped.

...Oh.

"This... this is hardly _her_ fault," she murmured, a soft, muted protest as she bowed her head, pale face shadowed to hide the turmoil he knew lurked so painfully within. "And I know that. It’s not her fault any more than it’s Roy’s. Neither one of them did anything wrong and they don't deserve _any_ of this. …But…”

“…I know.” Slowly, Maes sat back down again, his heart aching as he tried to just _not_ remember the woman who had started this all- the one who’d broken Roy more than Archer ever had, and all without even meaning to. He’d hated her, too, before learning the truth… and sometimes still felt as if he did.

No matter how unfair it was.

No matter the fact that she was just as blameless as Roy was.

No matter how much he _didn’t_ want to hate her, sometimes, listening to Roy gasp and sob through a locked door and watching him hate himself to pieces…

Sometimes, he did.

“It’s- not her fault,” he started weakly, voice thick, “but she’s a very easy target to lay the blame on, I think. It feels like we have to blame _someone,_ and, it’s… not as if we’re ever going to get to actually level any blame against those responsible.”

That was the somber truth, too, he noted darkly, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

That was the truth, no matter how much he despised it.

There were just too many people that had done this to Roy. Too many faces, too many names, so many monsters to hunt that if they started, they’d never stop. God, Roy didn’t even _remember_ most of them. How many dozens, how many hundreds had hurt him and were still out there? It was _impossible_ to know. Maes had tried, once, and had his suspicions Hawkeye had tried far more than once- he’d gone through the files, he’d started a list, he’d read every interview, trying desperately to tabulate a list of all those _monsters_ he held responsible so he could tear them limb from limb…

But it wasn’t possible.

There was just too many of them.

And, to a certain point- what did it even matter?

Roy could do it, if he wanted to. He could give up his life for revenge, because Maes didn’t have the heart to stop him, and Hawkeye probably wanted it enough that she’d be right there taking it with him. Roy could try and hunt down every last person that had done this to him.

And he would spend the rest of his life doing it.

He’d have to give up his entire life for it, and even then, still never succeed. Because there were too many men, too many faces, too much _wrong_ to ever make right in a single lifetime.

And, perhaps even worse than that… he’d have to give up his entire life for a lost cause.

Because even if Roy killed them all. Even _if_ his best friend somehow tracked down every last person that had abused and hurt him and torn him apart. Even _if_ Roy found every last one of those monsters, and burned them alive-

What did it matter?

The damage had already been done to him, and killing the ones responsible wouldn’t undo it.

He’d be giving up his life for _nothing._

 _Well, hasn’t Melissa already been forced to give up hers?_ a nasty voice whispered in the back of his mind, and Maes shuddered violently, anger and disgust turning in his stomach again, and desperately fought for control.

If this was how it had been for Roy, these past seven months, he almost couldn’t even blame him for taking those pills in the first place.

Maes sighed deeply, fighting back his own distress for one of the saddest smiles he’d ever managed. “I probably should go check on him,” he murmured, trying not to sound as defeated as he really felt.

Hawkeye nodded in quiet, sad understanding. She still was hardly looking at him, and when she stood it looked as if it took everything she had to not follow him and step towards Roy.”I’ll arrange everything at work,” she promised, the words heavy with her own despair. “And… stop by tomorrow.”

“I- Lieutenant?”

She glanced back at him at last, and graced him with one of her first smiles in this entire meeting. “If you really can’t be leaving him alone, sir, then we’re going to have take shifts, won’t we? Unless you’re expecting to be able to go the week without sleeping, of course.”

Maes blinked stupidly.

And next moment, he’d wrapped Hawkeye up in the tightest hug he could manage, squeezing her to him so tightly it had to have knocked the breath out of her, and he just couldn’t keep the grin from swallowing his entire face.

“You are the _best,_ Hawkeye. The… the absolute best!”

Hawkeye was not the most huggy person in the world, he knew, but he just couldn’t help himself. He’d barely slept in days, he’d been out of his mind with worry for even longer, and had run himself so ragged trying to keep Roy from tumbling off into the deep end that suddenly being pushed to a halt and reminded _you’re not alone, here,_ was the single most relieving thing he’d heard in months. He squeezed her again, warm, sincere gratitude flooding through him, and when he finally forced himself into letting her go had to hold back a laugh at the faint, warm flush that had colored through her cheeks.

“S-so I’ve been told, sir,” she stammered, voice small. She was obviously trying to remain professional, but with her face turning pink it was hardly working, and Maes just laughed as he reached out to give her a brief hug again.

“Roy won’t thank you for it,” he told her, softer now, lowering his face to speak by her ear. “Not now, at least; not for a while. So I’m doing it for both of us. Thank you.”

When he finally let go of the Lieutenant, the two of them separating for him to wave goodbye, then shut the door, it was the lightest he’d felt all week.

They’d get through this. They’d gotten through worse before, hadn’t they? They had, and they’d get through it again now. Roy was not going to stop and give up _now,_ after everything.

Because Maes wasn’t the only one who refused to let him.

And, that thought on his mind, and a smile on his face, Maes turned back around.

To be greeted to the sight of Roy, pale-faced and face averted, slinking out of the bathroom like a sullen child.

Maes blinked stupidly again.

Roy moved another small step out into the open, fidgeting with his sleeves and lifting his dark, nervous eyes hesitantly up from the ground. “I was listening,” he said quietly, then abruptly looked away again.

“…Oh.” Maes swallowed, unwilling to let his boost in spirits retreat just like that, and made himself give a small smile again rather than the frown that probably would’ve been more appropriate. He moved cautiously back towards the couch, and was relieved when Roy started to move again as well- tiny steps and gaze on the floor and hugging himself or not. “Um- how did you…?”

Roy gave him a slight, bitter smile, shrugging shoulders that Maes swore were getting thinner by the day. “Fullmetal’s too much of a genius for his own good, I think. He invented an array for eavesdropping, and what’s more, I’m pretty sure it’s better than the one the actual Sound Alchemist uses. He drew it out for me once, in exchange for me sweeping one of his many riots back under the rug when it probably should’ve been a court martial instead.” He shook his head slightly, and the weak smile that twitched across his face was still warmer, more genuine, than anything Maes had seen on him in a long while. “The array’s pretty limited, but… it works.” He hesitated again, still hugging himself, dark eyes looking anywhere but at him. “You were going to be talking about me, obviously. I figured it was my business what was being said.”

Maes sighed grimly, pushing at his glasses. Well… it wasn’t as if Roy was wrong. Besides, maybe it was for the best this way, after all. This was a even somewhat of a good sign, wasn’t it? Roy wasn’t so far gone so as to be utterly unaware of the world around him; he’d been aware of what would be going on and had managed to care enough to actually take interest, to listen in. That was good, right? At least- at least he wasn’t so depressed so as to not even _care._ It had to be a good sign, didn’t it?

Didn’t it?

The colonel broke his gaze again, moving forwards with weak, trembling footsteps until he finally could brace himself on the back of the couch. He was shaking again, Maes saw. Or, perhaps, had just never stopped. His hands trembled and his legs shook like they could barely carry his own weight, and when he started to move around to sit, it looked like it was out of necessity and nothing else. “I didn’t realize she felt that way,” he said quietly, and his voice was shaking, too. “I… I had no idea, Maes. At all.”

“…Well, that was rather the point of her complaints, Roy.” Maes followed him into sitting down, though making sure to keep his distance. Touching Roy was a gamble on the best of days, and now… “It’s also a simple matter to try and fix that.”

Roy went very, very quiet.

“…Buddy?” he tried again, inching a little closer. He still did not respond, but the tremors that had all but possessed him from head to toe seemed to get just a little bit worse. He wasn't getting upset again, was he...? “Hey, it’s- look, it’s not that bad," Maes tried to reassure, his worry already growing, trying to gently coax his best friend back down to being relaxed again. "Really, I promise. It'll be all right, you can fix this- you just need to talk to her. Actually sit down and honestly talk to her, Roy; that’s all she’s asking for. You can do it with me; there’s no real reason you can’t with her.”

But again- Roy said nothing at all.

It was almost eerie, he thought, the way he just kept on shivering, trembling, teeth almost chattering though he was sweating... yet his black, dead eyes exuded such a stillness it chilled him to his core.

“Maes,” he rasped finally. He tried resting, hiding, his face in his hands, flesh and metal fingers rubbing over it, but the flesh fingers shook and the metal ones violently caught in his hair, yanking and pulling so hard it had to hurt, voice muffled, the overwrought misery leaking out no matter how he tried to hide it behind his palms. “I… that wife, you’re always telling me to get. That kid you’re always telling me to have. I know it’s her, all right? I know you’ve always meant her.” He stopped, the fingers dug into his hair clenching and tearing again, his mouth trembling with barely, just _barely_ contained emotion. “And that’s how at least part of me has always seen it, too. That we’ve got so many things we have to do first, but some day we won’t need to be in the military to help Ishval anymore and when that day comes… came… I could ask her to marry me.”

Roy stopped again, and this time, Maes saw the despair that had lingered in Hawkeye’s gaze in his, instead.

Again, the silence was all but unbearable.

“Well,” he went on at last, hoarse, almost broken. “I don’t see that anymore, Maes.”

Maes’ stomach dropped.

He wasn't upset, after all.

No... it was much worse than that.

“R… Roy,” he ventured shakily, a hand reaching forward before he even knew what he was doing. He gently brushed his shoulder, wishing desperately he could still that violent shaking that still wracked him from the inside out. “Roy, buddy, you-“

“I can’t do that to her. I... I _can’t,_ Maes." His voice wavered until it broke, thick with suppressed tears as it crumbled apart and his face with it, tiny little gasps sucked through his miserable attempt at words like his body was filling with anguish so deep there wasn't room for air. "I can’t give her Ishval, not that Ishval was ever even _about_ her, b-but- and now, I can’t even be someone worth marrying her. Because… because s-she deserves… so much _more_ than what I can be, now, and I... what am I, really? _Really,_ Maes?” Roy shifted around to look at him and flinched in the same motion, jerking back away from his outstretched hand like he’d expected it to hit him. “She’d spend every day of the rest of her life worrying about me. Taking care of me. Every single day would turn into _how mentally stable is my husband today?,_ and _do I need to hide just the alcohol or the razors from him, too?_ and I just- I can’t _do that_ to her!”

And then he was suddenly distraught now, voice rising into a cry of desperation as he pushed away, trembling worse and worse on the spot as if he was being cleaved in two. “I don’t know if I could _ever_ sleep with her, Maes! And a- a c-child? What? Never mind I’d be the worst drunk of a father the world’s ever seen,” he gasped, laughing and shaking his head, fingers dragging through his hair to leave the ragged bangs dangling like a madman’s, “I _already have one_ now! A s-son or, or a daughter th-that- that the idea of their existence makes me want to _throw up-_ she shouldn’t w-want to even be in the same _room_ as me, Maes, she should hate me, I c-can’t-“

Maes had seen him break down enough times in one day to recognize the signs that another one was on the way, and after everything else that had already happened today this was the last thing that he needed. “ _Hey._ Roy, Roy-“ Ignoring the wild, crazed push that went askew, nearly throwing his glasses to the floor, Maes moved closer to wrap a steadying arm around his shoulders, fighting to anchor him, to calm him down. “Roy. Stop. Stop doing this to yourself. You-“

“I’m not _doing anything,_ Maes, this is just who I _am,_ now!” he practically screamed, wild-eyed and shouting in his face, and _oh,_ he was upset now. “This is _what I am!_ R- Riza- s-she- she deserves the moon and the stars and the world, Maes, but I can't even give her me! _T_ _his_ is everything I can offer her! This is all am, and don’t tell me it’ll get better, Maes, because it won’t! It’s been months and it’s never gotten better!” He wrenched away to hurtle up towards his feet again, pacing back and forth so fast he nearly tripped and fell on trembling legs to leave Maes just sitting there behind on the couch, aghast. “And I don’t deserve better; I can’t pretend- all the lives I’ve ruined, all the people I’ve killed, I- I have a _CHILD,_ Maes, I _forced_ her to have my fucking _child-“_ He stumbled to a trembling stop, shaking violently from head to toe, and his face,- his distraught, destroyed face, wild, panicked eyes, all of him torn to shreds with the agony and guilt he knew lived in his heart, every single day- god, he was falling apart right in front of his eyes-

“ _I CAN’T BE THIS, MAES!”_ he finally screamed. “ _I can’t. I CAN’T!”_ He spun away, throwing himself to slam first his fists into the wall, collapsing against it like he was dying, gasping out his panic and anguish like it was poison infecting his lungs. “I… _I…_ I deserve it, Maes, I c-can’t stand this but it’s m-my fault, I d-deserve so much worse for w-what… what I’ve done-”

The terrified rant tumbled off into horrified silence, voice still a weak gasp and his back shaking, fists clenched against the wall. He shook his head, again and again, over and over, the soft gasped cry under his breath escalating, growing into a low, tortured moan…

Then brought his head back, and, with a scream of frustration so loud, it was blood-curdling- slammed it straight down into the wall.

Maes caught him on the second blow. He dragged him backwards, wrapping an arm around him from behind, then all but tackled him on the third attempt, pinning his arms to his sides in a tight embrace and inch by inch, brought them both down together as Roy fought, kicked, and trashed, god, _howling_ like a wild animal. “Roy, _stop,”_ he ordered, now with no room for argument. “Now.”

But Roy cried out at being restrained, thrashing violently in his arms to make it an outright war just to get him sitting down on the couch. He fought him hard and kicked and wailed, “Roy, _stop it!”_ but he screamed louder, and it was a blessing that Maes was bigger than him because that was the only way he was able to keep him down bearing the bruises from flailing fists because they had been through this enough times before that he knew he had no other choice.

“Roy,” he said loudly and firmly, only to break off with the name garnered a choked off cry of sheer _terror_. His heart lurched, threatening to shatter all over again, guilt and anger and sorrow and too many emotions that he couldn’t even name flooding through him until he wanted to throw up, but Roy was still trapped under his hand sobbing and needed this more than Maes needed to feel guilty.

So he said, “Buddy,” this time, louder and firmer than before. He flexed his hand against his back, letting him thrash all that he needed to, fighting to block out the only half-muffled screams because he couldn’t bear to hear them. “Listen to me. I am not going to hurt you. I’ll let you go when you calm down. You’re- listen to me, you’re safe here. I’m not going to do anything to you, but I won’t let you hurt yourself, buddy.”

It was hell and heartbreaking and Maes _hated_ it with every fiber of his being, and he hated himself even more knowing what it was doing to Roy. He hated knowing he was terrified, he hated knowing he was scaring him, it broke his heart knowing Roy _was_ scared of him, his shattered mind driven too far to care about the difference between friend or foe and all he knew was that being touched was a prequel to being hurt. Hurt in unimaginable, _horrific_ ways, and it broke his heart knowing what he was doing to him with this- but Maes had never known what else to try.

This wasn’t the first time Roy had tried hitting, scratching, biting himself in a fit of maddened hysteria so deep he didn’t hear Maes trying to call him out of it.

This was not the first time Maes had had to hold his arms and sit on his back, because he just did not know how else to stop him from hurting himself.

It never ceased being horrible; every second he sat there and let Roy fight back but couldn’t let him win was unbearable and every moment it lasted was worse than the last. It broke his heart as he muffled screams into the couch and all he could was chant _you’re safe, I won’t hurt you, you’re safe_ over and over again never knowing if the broken words got through to him or if all Roy knew was that he was being held down and still Maes could do _nothing_ but wait and stare and hope.

It stopped Roy from hurting himself worse than a bandage could fix.

Maes would bear all the sobs and his own heartbreak in the world, as long as it was to that end.

He had make himself watch his best friend, no matter how his thrashing and muffled, desperate _wailing_ tore him apart, no matter the tears that burned in his eyes just to see it. He had no choice. He examined every twitch, started at every gasp, straightened with every kick.

He had to watch and listen and _know_ when Roy had calmed down enough to come back to himself, because Roy wouldn’t tell him when he had. Maes desperately wanted to let him go, didn’t want to hold him here for a second longer than he had to- but Roy would never fucking _say._ There was some invisible line, some shift when his best friend had finally calmed down enough to be trusted on his own but still wanted Maes _gone,_ wanted him _off_ and _now_ but didn’t know how to tell him no because he’d spent six months having absolute fucking _monsters_ teach him he couldn’t. And Maes already couldn’t bear to do this to him when he _needed_ it; it was so much worse when Roy didn’t need or want him there at all and all he was doing was terrifying and hurting him worse- god, Maes _hated_ to do this, so _much_ , it felt like he was being torn apart every time _…_

It was fucking killing him.

And it could _actually_ kill Roy, if he could not bring himself to do it.

So he remained on his best friend, pinning him down and restraining his every move, and he bore every last gasp, cry, and sob, because it was what Roy needed him to do.

It had been only a few minutes, by his count, when Roy had at last fallen still.

Worn out, panting... _still shaking..._ but still.

Maes held his breath.

"...Buddy?"

The unbearably thin, scarred back before him, shirt now clinging to him with sweat, and that dark head forcibly pillowed against the couch- remained still.

From here, Maes could see both the ends of the whip scars edging out over his collar, and, beyond his hair against his neck, just the barest edge of a number.

His stomach threatened to upheave, and in the same breath, Maes looked away very quickly.

But Roy had not responded to him, which meant it was safe for him to now risk moving his hand away, and he could not bear to waste any more time on that than he had to. Every second he waited was one more that Roy remained pinned down and scared out of his mind and _hurting_ because of it.

With a desperate, breathless prayer to a god he did not believe in, Maes carefully withdrew his hand away.

Several seconds passed in a thick, uncomfortable silence.

It was so much harder than normal to tell, with Roy still shaking this badly, but when Roy didn’t try and throw himself further away Maes knew he had to at least try and get off him. Carefully, agonizingly careful, Maes leveraged himself upwards, moving off of Roy’s trembling back to watch him still. He held his breath, waiting for it to go badly, waiting for it go _wrong…_

“I’m sorry,” he begged, though it meant nothing, though it could never make up for how he’d just made him feel, _ever._ “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He all but fell to sit on the floor in front of Roy, far enough away not to touch him, close enough to grab him again if he had to. “I’m- R- buddy, I’m sorry…”

His best friend just remained face down on the couch, trembling from head to toe, face and soft, miserable whimpers buried in his arms. He wouldn’t even _look_ at him. And Maes had to soon stop looking at him, too, turning his eyes from the pitiable, heartwrenching sight, because from here the scars on his neck were on full display and Maes just- couldn’t. He couldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, but Roy was just not listening to him.

If he ever had been in the first place.

“…I c-can’t _do this anymore,_ Maes.”

“Yes, you _can,”_ he whispered, but when it was a cracked whisper with a broken heart it convinced no one- not even himself. “You’ve- you’ve already done so much, you- you can’t just say-“

“Say what? The truth?” Roy turned bitterly, no attempt made to sit upright as reddened, miserable eyes met his through ragged hair. “I hate myself. I hate what I’ve reduced myself to. And don’t say it’s not my fault, because it is.”

“It’s _not,_ Roy, this wasn’t your choi-“

“It _is,”_ Roy whispered, voice hoarse and cracked in the exhaustion, the misery, the defeat. His best friend turned a little, pale and scarred hands trembling badly in their efforts to support him, his face so twisted in self-loathing Maes had to turn away. “You can try and turn this around all you want, Maes, but if it’s not my fault, then whose is it? Who is responsible? Has Colonel Archer been following my every move these past six months; has he been forcing my hand in every stupid decision I’ve made? Is that it; is that who I blame? How about you, Maes; am I supposed to blame _you_ for somehow not managing to handhold me every step of the way even though it’s been me slamming the door in your face every time you’ve tried?”

“I…”

“No, Maes- this _is_ what I am; I made myself this way through every wrong choice and every time I chose to hurt myself or someone else, this is what I’ve made of myself and I c-can’t _do this anymore!_ I can’t be this way, I- I’m _tired_ of living this way, Maes, of every single _day_ being a fight not to fall d-down this _badly,_ and what I know now-“ His voice broke and suddenly he was half sitting up, pulled violently away back into the corner of the couch with his arms wrapped tight around himself and his pale, wet face distraught. “I have a _child_ out there, Maes! What am I supposed to do _now?!”_

“…I don’t know,” Maes whispered finally, dropping his head to his own arms. “I don’t know- …buddy.”

He’d stopped himself just short of saying his best friend’s name.

He’d made that mistake often enough to know that wouldn’t end well.

Roy was right, though. He was right now, just like he’d been right every time he’d said this before; he’d been right with these words that night Roy had murdered Archer and the man who had tortured him for six months straight. Roy had told him that night that he felt stuck and trapped, unable to keep going or move on, that he didn’t know what to do or how to stop feeling this way and no longer believed that he even _could-_

And now?

After what he’d learned now?

It didn’t matter if Maes had him detoxed so thoroughly it’d be as if Roy had never even heard of drugs. The drugs were a bandaid Roy had been taping over a massive injury, and the withdrawal was an even smaller one Maes had been trying to foist on a gaping wound. All of this hurt and misery still existed underneath it all, and Maes would be a madman and a fool to pretend that Roy might ever move past it. Some wounds ran too deep and this was simply one of them.

Even _before_ Melissa Weber had contacted Roy, some part of Maes had already known that Roy was never, _ever_ going to heal from this, even as Maes had pretended like his weekly visits and pouring out of his alcohol and desperate nagging and protection and worrying was enough- a part of him had always known that it wasn’t. Not for Roy. That there was _nothing_ that could ever be enough to save him from this.

Now?

Now that Roy knew there was a living, breathing, thinking human being out there he’d hurt so badly, forced or not? That there was an innocent baby in existence because of him?

It wasn’t his fault. It was _not._ Maes would swear that until his dying breath; he would assure Roy of that until he was blue in the face; he didn’t care how many excuses or twists Roy tried to shout at him that was a fucking _fact-_ but one he knew Roy would never be able to accept.

Part of Roy would always call himself a rapist, and look at that woman and child and see his victims.

In his place, Maes wasn’t so sure he’d manage to be any different.

He just wanted Roy to live- to be _himself_ again. He missed his best friend so _badly._ He missed his laugh, his smile. He missed the light in his eyes when he’d looked towards a promotion and the smug smirk when he’d teased Ed and the softly adoring look he’d given Riza whenever she couldn’t see; he missed something as simple as just getting a drink with him to watch him turn into a magnificent drunken flirt.

And Maes knew some of it was selfish, as much as he hated himself for it- but that wasn’t all.

Maes didn’t just want his best friend back; he wanted Roy back for Roy’s own sake. He knew Roy was miserable. He knew Roy hated being like this. Perhaps he wasn’t suicidal anymore but what the hell did that _matter_ when Roy was in this much pain with each and every day? When he couldn’t see an existence beyond this anymore; when this was all he was and all Roy ever thought he could be?

He just wanted Roy to be okay again.

And he feared, in the very bottom of his heart, that he never would be.

“…Look,” Maes finally murmured, his own voice dry and weak. Roy continued to huddle far away from him, holding himself protectively and trembling because he’d never stopped. “I’m not going to pretend I know what to say or how to fix this. But- but if you’re making wrong choices, if you think you’re making bad decisions- you can _change_ that, Roy. I’m not saying that’s _enough_ or that you’d just magically feel better but it’s… something, and- and if you don’t like how things are… it’s not your fault that you’re like this, Roy, but you can _change_ what you’re like now.” He didn’t dare try to touch him yet, but _god_ he wanted to, to try and comfort him the only way Maes knew how. “You can choose to try and be better, Roy. Maybe you can’t change how you feel but you can at least change how you _are.”_

Roy gave a soft, bitter, and broken laugh. It was a close to a statement of fact, of his best friend telling him he was wrong, that Maes needed- he didn’t even bother trying to press the point. With Roy as stressed and exhausted and panicked as he was now, there would be no getting through to him.

There would barely be any getting through on this matter even if Roy was as calm as could be.

“And…” Maes went on after several moments, even with his own confidence failing him and the words dying in his throat, “and, I know you won’t believe me, I’m not telling you to, but… Roy, you _know_ this wasn’t your fault. You did what you had to do to keep an innocent woman alive. You didn’t get any pleasure out of it, you didn’t _want_ to do it- all you were trying to do was help her. There is nothing wrong with that.” Maes swallowed hard, turning his gaze away from his broken friend again to stare at the floor, heart clenching at that despairing, hopeless stare. But at the same time, Maes just couldn’t stop, too desperate to do _anything_ if there was just the slightest chance of getting through to him. “I know it may not change anything about how you feel but you _have_ to know that none of what you did was wrong.”

Roy sighed heavily. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the colonel sink even deeper back into the couch, head all but hidden in his arms; still shaking, always shaking, still broken… always broken. He shook his head again, shadowed still with the refusal to accept his words, that refusal Maes knew would always be there- and he was silent at first, so silent it was almost as if he might never speak again.

When he finally did find his voice again, it was so low and cracked it hurt to even hear him speak. Maes wanted to tell him to just stop, just _rest,_ for god’s sake…

But he would not. He’d never just stop.

Because it would never stop for Roy, and no matter what Maes tried to say, it was just too late to save him.

It was too late to change _anything._

And some part of Maes had known that all from the very beginning.

“The first few times,” Roy started, soft and hollow, “I had to… I couldn’t…” He coughed, hunching down even more until barely his eyes were visible over the top of his arms, shaded by his ragged hair. “I guess having sex so often just… desensitized it. Physically. Normally, no one gave a damn, but this time, with Melissa they made me… Maes, I…” He stopped again, working his jaw and staring anywhere but at him.

“I wasn’t aroused,” he said finally.

Those last three words were almost awkwardly loud, plainly uncomfortable and upset on the cold air, and Maes stiffened.

“You don’t have to-“ he rushed to get out, the words tumbling over each other in a broken stampede. “Roy-“ No, he didn’t have to, and it was selfish on his part but Maes desperately didn’t _want_ him to _,_ god, not at all- he couldn’t just _sit here_ and listen to Roy’s graphic account of his own rape, he could not _stand this-_

But no matter what Maes _felt_ , Roy clearly had been through it a hundred times worse.

Roy didn't just feel it. Roy had _lived_ this torture himself.

No matter Maes' own desperate, selfish wish to close his eyes and hide from the truth that this had ever happened, Roy had endured it all, and none of the horror or pain that Maes felt in that moment could ever come close to what his best friend had lived.

He shut his eyes, hot tears burning against them again, and found himself trapped into silence, as Roy continued on.

“I had to force… to make… I had to touch it,” he finally managed, the words just as uncomfortable and awkward as the ones before. “They forced me to do that, too. I didn’t _want_ that but they held up the gun and said I couldn’t fake it, that that wasn’t _good enough,_ and I… I just wanted it to stop so I did whatever I had to to just make them go away. So- I forced it. And I had to force it the next day, and the day after that, and after t-that…” Roy stopped for a moment, face all but hidden in his knees, eyes wide but blind to the room. His hands had never quit shaking, but now, as Maes watched, they drifted closer to each other, fingers twitching spasmodically until they found purchase in his own skin.

Maes, his stomach lurching, had to let him.

In Roy’s current state, in the emotional turmoil he was in right now- Maes would do far more damage trying to restrain him than Roy would do himself, slowly scratching deep, sluggishly bleeding furrows into his own arms.

The scratches took the form of jagged, mismatched circles, and Maes knew this was no accident.

“By the end,” Roy stammered out, blood dripping slowly down his arms, “I… didn’t even have to force it. It was just already _there._ And I know that doesn’t mean anything, Maes, not really, I know that doesn’t mean I wanted this or, god forbid, _enjoyed_ it. You don’t have to lecture me like I’m ten. I know that physical stimuli can just be _enough_ , somehow, how disgusted or horrified you are- but that fact doesn’t change anything, does it? Not to anyone else.” He shook his head bitterly again, starting to slump backwards even more like he was boneless… or dead. “Melissa fought back so hard then she managed broke my wrist. I made her _bleed._ And- and Master… when _he_ s- _saw_ …”

“I don’t care what that monster said or did and neither should you,” Maes cut in savagely, unable to stop himself. His voice was shaking as he moved closer, wanting to touch his hand, wipe the blood away, _something,_ but Roy didn’t want it and Maes was too angry to even try it calmly. “He was a waste of fucking space and you shouldn’t give weight or truth to anything he ever said about you.”

Roy paused, tilting his head slightly in his arms to level a flat, unerringly steady look right at Maes. It made him so uneasy his skin crawled.

“He fucking laughed, Maes. He looked at me, and he laughed, and patted my head like I was his fucking dog.” Roy looked straight back at him, as steady as Maes was shaken, as sure of himself as Maes was shocked- as uncaring as Maes was horrified. “He told me that now that I finally understood what it was like to have that kind of power over another person, how _exhilarating_ it was, how much fun it was, then maybe I wouldn’t cry so much when it was finally my turn again. He patted my head, Maes, and said _good boy.”_

Maes' heart clenched like it'd just been crushed apart with a sledgehammer.

And then suddenly, somehow, Maes found himself up on the couch next to him, just unable to stand it any more even though Roy was still staring straight ahead with dead eyes; he would’ve looked as uncaring as a corpse had he not _still_ been shaking. “S-stop it, Roy, just- _stop it!”_ He touched his hands first, then when Roy didn’t break away smoothed his grip over his arms, wiping the blood away on his own sleeves and desperately trying to meet his best friend’s staring, deadened eyes. “Why are you making yourself relive this?! It’s not helping you, it’s not doing you any good- you’re just making yourself miserable! _Stop,_ Roy, stop _hurting yourself!”_

Roy did not respond, not even to try and throw Maes’ hands off his arms, and Maes found himself drawn even closer just by the empty look on his face. He wrapped his arms around him, feeling the tremors, the cold sweat, the pants, but Roy didn’t fight him and Maes held him tighter, feeling as if he was holding his best friend together just as much as he was trying to hold himself.

And Roy, once again, gave a soft, bitter laugh, right by his ear. “As if I’ll ever stop reliving it.” He tilted his head back, pale as a wispy cloud and thin as one, too. “As if I’ll ever live a single day without thinking of it.”

“You- _Roy-"_

“It felt almost like Ishval,” Roy went on softly, the steady words plowing straight through to Maes’ soul no matter how desperately he just wanted him to stop. “The first few towns you eradicate, you’re still human enough to know what you’re doing, to hate yourself. But at a certain point- well, a murderer’s a murderer; a rapist’s a rapist, right?” He laughed hollowly. “You know what you’re doing is wrong but you’re such a terrible person now, such a monster, you can desensitize yourself to it just so you can survive. You don’t feel sick or disgusting or hate yourself, you’re just _numb,_ and part of you is selfishly fucking grateful for it because it’s all you have… but the rest of you _does_ hate yourself for it, because you don’t deserve even that.

“And it’s still the same even now, Hughes. It’s been years since Ishval and months since this, and it’s still the same. You learn how to live with being a monster, but it never gets more bearable. It just turns into a fact of your life that you live with because it’s your only choice.” Roy laughed again, he laughed softly and steadily and so coldly it felt like ice crystals bolting through his heart, and no matter how tightly he tried to hold him together in his arms it felt like he was already dead and gone. “There’s nothing left for me, Maes. You can sit there, and talk about the future, and Ishval, and my _child,_ and tell me there’ll be a day when I don’t feel this way- and maybe there will be, but you know and I know that that doesn’t matter. This will always be who I am and there is nothing either of us can do to change that.”

Maes gritted his teeth, his mind at an agonizing blank, tongue leaden and throat constricted because as much as he wanted to speak up, to assure him he was wrong, to comfort him, _something-_ but there was nothing he could do. No words that he could ever say would come close to touching Roy’s pain; it felt insulting now for him to even try.

There was no hopeful speech, reassuring platitude, or verbal kick in the ass to give anymore.

Because Roy was right.

This was all there was, and despite _everything_ Maes had spent months trying to do for him, he had never once managed to do anything to change that.

Maes stayed there, holding Roy because he couldn’t bear to let him go- and Roy just sat there, letting him, and laughing.

He never stopped shaking, either.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update should be in three days; see you Friday!


	11. Lose It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments/kudos!

Hawkeye, as promised, stopped by the next day.

Roy hadn’t slept much the night before. Maes had been tired enough to pass out whenever Roy managed it- but always jerked out of it barely an hour later to Roy pacing, twitching, shaking.

And that was only if Roy didn’t wake him up before it with borderline bloodcurdling _screams_ beforehand.

Suffice to say, it had been a very rough night for them both, and Maes was very realized when the lieutenant showed up with the promise of allowing him a breather.

The problem was, it didn’t end up being much of a breather- because Roy still couldn’t face her.

Maes didn’t even know what the problem was, anymore. Just that Riza was a woman? Or that he’d burned her and the memory of having his hand forced to hurt someone that he cared about was too much right now? Was it deeper, his new inability to help them all try to right Ishval and now that that promise had been broken, even through no fault of his own, Roy couldn’t face her?

He didn’t know.

All he did know was that Roy had locked himself in his bathroom again, and was still there when a disheartened Riza had shaken him awake five restless hours later.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, lowering her dull eyes to the ground.

Maes would’ve been more disappointed, if he’d ever been hopeful in the first place.

He walked the lieutenant to the door, the both of them just going through the motions to pretend everything was far closer to normal than it would ever be again. He offered her coffee, even though they both knew Roy had more dustballs than edibles in his cabinets, and she offered to stop by if he ever needed help again, even though they both knew that with as much as she was obviously stressing Roy out, it’d be best if she just didn’t come back.

She did promise to stop back with groceries in a few hours.

That was nice.

That was helpful.

And then, with slumped shoulders and crushed spirits, Maes steeled himself, and once again headed back to confront his best friend.

He felt no more rested than before, and his stomach squirmed as if he was about to be sick.

“Buddy?” he called, rapping his fist gently on the door. “She’s… she’s gone. Okay? Just us.”

Complete silence.

Maes hesitated, biting his lip anxiously. “…Buddy?” he called, just a little bit louder.

No answer. None at _all._

Maes stopped for a moment, fist resting against the door as he weighed all his equally terrible options. It took only a heartbeat of introspection to decide that he could not risk leaving his best friend alone, especially if he wasn’t _answering him,_ and dug in his pockets for a lock pick. He felt guilty for even thinking about taking away Roy’s one last bit of privacy, but in the current state of affairs, just could not risk it- Roy was alone in there, very sick, possibly suicidal, and not answering him.

This was the only safe choice he had.

 _Besides,_ he reasoned with himself reluctantly, carefully jiggling with the lock. Roy knew full well Maes could get his way through a locked door. The only reason Roy used it was because he trusted Maes enough to know he wouldn’t break through it, not unless it was absolutely necessary- and right now, it was.

As angry and irrational as Roy was right now, he knew his best friend might not understand it… but Maes knew it was still the right thing to do.

No matter how reluctant he was to do it.

Maes finally got the lock to turn and gripped the knob gently in hand, trying to be as soft and careful as he could. “Buddy, I’m coming in,” he said, making sure not to use his name- and then, pushed the door out of the way, and stepped inside.

He stopped short, breath catching warmly in his throat.

Roy was there, yes.

And he was, for the first time since this whole dreadful affair had started- perfectly fine.

He was fast asleep on the cold tile floor.

For several moments, Maes was too surprised to do anything but just stand there like an idiot and stare blankly down at him.

But then, slowly, he allowed himself to soften into a smile.

Roy lay there silently on his side, curled up into a loose ball that looked almost comfortable. His head was pillowed in one arm, the other wrapped loosely around his chest, the man snuffling softly with each breath and twitching occasionally, shuddering like he was caught in a fretful dream. And on one hand- well- Maes bit his lip, frowning. He looked awful. It was a fact. He shivered like it was ten below but his pale skin was slick like he’d just sprinted a mile, exhaustion etched so deeply onto his face it was as if there were bruises, so limp he was boneless-

And never mind all that, Roy was just out cold on the damn bathroom floor, head pillowed in his arm; the last time Maes could remember being ill enough to sleep on the bathroom floor had been five years ago with the flu, which only keyed him in to how _badly_ Roy had to feel now, but-

But right now, like this?

This was the most peaceful Maes had seen him in days.

After several seconds of just blank staring, his heart squeezing tightly and his throat suddenly thick, Maes withdrew as silently as he could, and left Roy sleeping on the floor.

He fetched the blanket he’d slept with on the couch, one of the few possessions he knew his friend still cared for at all anymore, and silently crept back towards Roy. Ideally, he could’ve gotten Roy up and into bed, or at least snuck a pillow under his head- but Roy was asleep and Maes just wasn’t going to risk waking him up. This blanket would have to do, he thought, moving as carefully and silently as he could to drop the light, Xingese fabric over his shoulders and gently tuck it around him.

Roy whuffled gently in his sleep again, curling a bit tighter under the blanket, and Maes smiled.

Seemed like he was going to be here for a while.

* * *

Roy shifted, murmured, and twitched, for two more hours straight.

It was actually sort of funny, if Maes let himself think about it. He’d never seen someone sleep so fitfully, in such an uncomfortable position, yet still manage to stay asleep. He tossed and turned on the cold tiles, fingers digging into the blanket; at least he’d finally stopped shivering. He murmured and muttered, mostly incoherent nonsense, too soft and fast to be understood; at one point, he definitely caught, “Potato,” and he'd kicked his leg like a dog.

It had taken a real effort for Maes to stifle his own laughter at that one.

He’d stopped shivering, but was still sweating. That was… all right, Maes could admit it. That was concerning.

But it was the most peaceful he’d seen Roy in days, and after the week he’d had, Maes was just going to happily take what he could get.

And Roy stayed that way for two straight hours after Riza had left.

So long, in fact, that Maes started to doze off by his side. Sitting uncomfortably there on the floor, utterly cramped in the small space, but near enough to Roy to know that he was safe and relatively content.

This was more peaceful than the hours he’d spent tossing and turning on the couch, anyway, trying desperately to block out his own worry and fear, trying even more desperately not to think of what Roy was doing.

His one attempt at sleep, however, was broken, when Roy took in an especially heavy breath, twitched hard on the floor- and then, his two dark eyes finally shot open.

He tensed violently, twisting under the blankets like Maes had poked him with a cattle prod jacked up to eleven. Hands folded into fists, his eyes narrowing like he was staring at a bolt of lightning on a clear blue day.

“Shh,” Maes cautioned quietly; after all these months, it was an instinct and a reflex more than anything else. “It’s okay. It was just a dream.”

Roy stayed tense for several moments, just breathing hard, still shivering under the blanket. He gripped it spasmodically, twitching, gaze jumping from Maes to staring blindly at nothing- then, with a great shudder, he relaxed.

“Sorry,” he muttered, pulling away from Maes’ hand without so much as looking at him. He shifted uncomfortably, glancing around in obvious befuddlement at the position he’d been found in, then touching the blanket in even more bewilderment.

Maes hesitated as well, unsure of how much he should say. “…Lieutenant Hawkeye’s left,” he finally told him, regretting it almost instantly when the mere mention of his adjutant’s name made him tense. “It’s just us.”

Roy looked away.

“…I’m sorry,” Maes sighed, leaning back against the cold wall. There was a whole lot that he wanted to say, but very little of it would be productive, and with Roy not fighting with him at the moment- god, for once, all Maes wanted to do was just keep the peace, as fragile as it was. “We spoke, and she won’t come back for a little while. Not until you’re feeling better. For now it’ll just be me.”

Maes devoutly believed Roy just needed to sit down and talk to Riza, to clear the air once and for all and end this ridiculous, one-sided, pseudo-feud he had where he couldn’t stand to so much as look her in the eye. Whatever it was Roy was so afraid of or averse to, Maes knew the sharpshooter wouldn’t fulfill it or let him down, and the sooner Roy could have one of his closest friends back on his side, the better.

But now was not the time to do that.

Now, when Roy was unwell, on edge, and still reeling, was not the time. If Roy needed this now, if he needed this one bit of comfort and coddling, Maes could not begrudge him that.

Again, however, Roy did not answer him.

Again, he still just sat there with his arms wrapped around himself, his dark eyes distracted, and his face, fallen.

Maes’ spirits fell right after it.

After several moments, he cleared his throat, trying not to stare. “How’re you feeling? Any better today?”

His best friend was unresponsive for a heartbeat or two; to be fair, Maes had not expected anything more. But then, to his surprise, Roy turned back to him, face actually clear- and nodded. “Yes. It- it is.”

“…You do?” Maes squinted at him, leaning closer. … _if this is some kind of ploy…_ “Roy, I’m not leaving this early, no matter what you say- if you’re just trying to-“

“Yes, you’ve made it quite apparent you intend on going nowhere, you ass,” Roy cut in, frowning. His hands quivered a little, but clenching them in the blankets seemed to get them to stop. “I’m not lying. I do actually feel- feel better.” He looked down at himself, frowning still, then made a ginger attempt to push himself off the wall, moving like he was afraid of something changing or shifting, like the very floor might start to rock under him... yet somehow, he stayed steady.

Somehow, he was okay.

Maes squinted harder, staring at him, searching for some hint of deceit in him, but the closer he looked the less he saw. Somehow, he actually _did_ look as if he felt better than yesterday. His eyes were just a bit clearer, and while the twitching was still present it wasn’t quite as bad. Maybe the hours of rest had done him some good? He sincerely hoped that it had. His friend had desperately needed a bit of rest, by this point- perhaps that really was all that he'd needed to be able to calm down?

Well, _whatever_ he had to thank for this, he was grateful.

Roy was still for several moments, one hand keeping the blanket clutched around him. Finally, still moving a little shakily, he began to struggle upright. Maes held himself back from helping him, knowing it was not what Roy wanted even as his legs wavered and he staggered along the way like the floor was soon to become his permanent home. He stumbled over to the counter, supporting himself there on shaking legs through several heavy breaths.

“…Well?” Maes asked after a pause, the both of them on edge, waiting for something to go wrong, surprised when it didn’t. “Do you think you could eat something?”

Roy didn’t respond at first, just long enough that Maes started formulating an argument to convince him, but then, to his disbelief, the colonel nodded again. “Maybe,” he mumbled vaguely, lowering his gaze and reaching out to splash some water on his face. He paused again, dark gaze still averted. “If you’re referring to that parasitic, food-poisoning inducing trap you call a casserole, though-“

“One time. You got sick from it _one time!”_

“I only ate it _one time.”_

“Yeah, and what a surprise, you’d had too much to drink the night before. Gracia’s never complained. No one else has ever complained, but then there’s you, of course- always whining, always-“

“Shut up,” Roy sighed. He released the blanket at last, slowly folding it with two, still trembling, hands. “Here. I’m taking a shower. Don’t burn down my kitchen.”

Maes found himself smiling, too, looking over at Roy and his heart lighter for the first time in days. He figured Roy wanted a bit of privacy more than anything, and that, at least, Maes could give him. He accepted the blanket with a smile, draping it back over his shoulder as he turned away. “Don’t drown!” he called teasingly, and was rewarded with a near-growl of annoyance just moments before Roy slammed the door in his face.

Maes, relieved and finally at something close to ease, left him behind without a worry, and carried on to the kitchen to piece together what he could of Riza’s groceries.

* * *

By the time Roy had padded out back into civilization again, visibly more human than before, Maes had cleaned up as much of the messes as he could, and actually felt more rested himself just from the break and the happier turn things had taken this morning. At the sound of the bathroom door finally creaking open, some minutes after the water had shut off, Maes couldn’t help but smile over his shoulder, gaze resting on his best friend, then quickly turn himself back around.

Partially to give his best friend some more privacy; partially just to finish throwing breakfast turned lunch together.

“Good morning,” he chirped good-naturedly, like this was nothing more than the standard hungover Roy after a fantastic night out, and never well mind that Maes hadn’t seen his best friend like that in well over a year. “Still feeling better?"

Roy grunted quietly at him, but at least he didn’t snap; a nearby chair screeched uncomfortably against the floor then _thumped_ softly as his friend dropped into it, elbows resting heavily on the table.

"Aw, come on. Cheer up! You’ve practically on vacation, here- what more could a guy ask for?”

Roy grunted a second time, face twitching as Maes turned around, but at least he didn’t protest the sandwiches in his arms. “Privacy,” he deadpanned, rather unsurprisingly, but he still didn’t protest as Maes sat down, and even reached a hand out to claim one of the sandwiches as his own without being prompted. Maes couldn’t have been happier.

Roy’s hand, he noted, still trembled.

Roy ate in silence for several moments, returning to his usual, taciturn shell, all but outright ignoring Maes in a way that almost reminded him of the old Roy, so much so that it ached. It was familiar and warm and hurt and comforting all at the same time, and it was all Maes could do not to sit there beaming at him like an idiot. Finally, heart at ease, he started in on his own breakfast, heart lifting and light with relief, and still fighting back a genuine smile.

Roy continued ignoring him, for the most part. Maes was fine with that. After a few more bites, though, he set the sandwich down, appetite seeming to wane for a bit, and he reached over to grab the blanket from before instead.

“You always did fondle that thing,” Maes said, watching as he drew it tightly around his shoulders without regard for his dripping hair. “Never understood why.”

Roy hmphed into the blanket, fingers curling around the edges, elbow straying towards a carved array in the table. “It’s imported from seamstresses in the Yao clan in Xing. They’re usually employed by the royal family, but sell them abroad sometimes for the profits.”

“…Do I want to know how much this cost…?”

The alchemist smirked. “Probably not.” He took another bite, dark eyes still averted as he hid beneath the thick blanket even more than before. “Four hundred thousand cenz.”

Maes nearly spat out his sandwich.

“F-four hundred-“ he gasped, choking, “four hundred- _thousand-“_

Roy’s mouth twitched in a smug sort of smirk again, amused arrogance only barely under the surface, and was very abundantly clear the asshole was enjoying this. “In addition to labor costs, they charged for transport across the desert. The dye was also hard to come by, I believe.” He looked down for a moment, gingerly fiddling with the sky blue hem. “I know I’m not Xingese in anything but name, but Christmas tried to give me a lot of the traditions growing up, and I-“ he paused, smiling fondly. “I just felt I could allow myself one guilty pleasure.”

Maes, after several more shocked moments, finally managed to swallow hard and get his breath back, turning away to slump back in his chair and still trying to shake off the disbelief. “That cost almost as much as Elicia’s preschool,” he said, pinning Roy with another look.

“Well, that’s the choice you made, isn’t it? Expensive, luxurious blankets, or kids?” Roy smirked again. “Personally, I prefer the softest, silkiest, most comfortable security blanket in all of Amestris to spit-up, temper tantrums, and midnight wailings, but feel free to continue trying to sway me. I feel honor-bound to tell you I don’t think I’ll ever, _ever_ , want kids, though, M-“

Roy stopped.

It took Maes only a second longer than it had taken Roy- but once it hit, it hit him just as hard, and his stomach dropped just as the blood drained from Roy’s face.

Oh, hell.

Roy quickly dropped his gaze, staring hard down at the scarred table with a complexion like that of sour milk. One heavy, half-metal hand thunked loudly on the wood, falling loosely from the blanket and fumbling on what looked like instinct alone for one of those damn arrays. He returned to the sandwich, more violently than before, and now was dead silent.

Maes looked down, heart sinking, and found himself hard pressed to say anything at all.

“…Maybe…” Roy coughed slightly, voice oddly low before it cracked altogether. “Maybe I should- should give this to her.” He shrugged at the blanket still shrouding around him. “Pretty much everything else I own isn’t really worth anything, and it’s all covered in circles by this point, anyway, but- but if she’d-…”

“Roy,” Maes said. He forced himself to drag his gaze back over to him, and Roy wasn’t looking back, but he watched his withdrawn, hunched form anyway, knowing the words had to be said. “Melissa made it clear she didn’t want-“

“I know, Maes, you _said,_ and I _know,_ after what I did to her I have no right to- to just force my way into her life anyway, I know all of that, but I still- _want-“_ The array under his hand sparked angrily, little blue bolts of electric energy circling in frantic, frenetic panic, his eyes going wide and just a hint wild. “How can I just sit here and do nothing, Maes? Even if it’s what she wants- what she _deserves?_ Hell, she’d probably be best off if I fucked off and killed myself, but-“

“ _No,_ god damn it, Roy-“

“And it’s probably what’s best for her, too. Her and the- the baby. Isn’t it?” He let out a high-pitched, shaking laugh, some of that wildness that had encompassed him in days past suddenly glittering his eyes as he pushed back, blanket falling- hand clamped over the array. “I can’t imagine having to see me would do any good for Melissa. And the baby- the-… well, Maes? Do I really seem like I’d be a good choice to try and take care of a young child? I’m an on again off again alcoholic and I know you’re half convinced I’m a drug addict now, too-”

“You-“ Maes forced himself to go on even other the bitter sound of Roy’s laugh, even over the silent roar of his own heart breaking; his chest was so tight it hurt to breathe. Goddammit, Roy had been doing so _well_ this morning; he was just too tired to keep going down this road with him. How did Roy still have the strength to even manage it himself? Wasn't he worn out by now as well? “Roy, we’ve been over this. You-“

“Yes, you’ve said it over and over again- and you’re not fucking _listening_ to me, Maes.” He buried his face miserably in his hands, voice muffled but his despair, not. “Do you have any idea how it feels to know your own father doesn’t want you? How frightening and awful and- and _sick_ it is, Maes?”

Maes turned his gaze away, shuddering. His heart sunk again.

He knew where this was going.

“Christmas… I’m not blaming her, Maes,” Roy sighed miserably. His face was still hidden in a way that didn’t do a damn thing to hide the anguish in his eyes. “She gave me the best childhood she could. I never had to question if she loved me, she tried to do everything I needed- but for at least some part of me that was never enough. Some part of me was always that kid he left at the group home because he hated me or my dead mother or- I don’t know, I never understood _how_ he could treat me like that, and part of me never got over it. Some mind-numbingly stupid part of me always cared even though he made it damn apparent he didn’t. Some stupid part of me _still_ cares; I've not seen or heard from him in almost three decades and he never did a damn thing for me but there's still some part of me that wants to know why the hell I wasn't enough."

Maes sighed, rubbing a cold, slightly trembling hand over his face, pinching at his glasses as his stomach turned threateningly again. “You already know my opinion on the man.” Granted, Roy knew his opinion on lots of things- it never seemed to stop him from doing things like this.

The colonel scoffed under his breath, rolling eyes that were lit with misery and something close to despair. "Right," he muttered to himself, sinking back into his chair as if the wind had been sucked out of his sails to leave him empty and hollow. "You know, I never thought I wanted kids... it’s pretty obvious me trying to be a father would be tantamount to child abuse-“

“ _Roy-“_

“-but I’d always promised myself if it happened, I’d _never_ let them grow up unwanted. No matter the circumstance. Whether it was a wife and kids with a white picket fence or an illegitimate spawn that could sink my career, I’d _never_ do that. I-“ He cursed loudly, slamming a scarred hand down on the table just to feel the pain in the metal ports. "I don't know what I'm saying."

Maes kept silent this time, knowing there was nothing he could intervene with that would make this better. Roy needed to get this out, one way or another, and nothing at all would be served by stopping him. The best Maes could do for him now was just be there to listen.

Even if the uncontrolled, almost rant he was stumbling through now couldn't be at all healthy.

He didn't know much about Roy's parents, he didn't know much about how he'd ended up in a group home, and he didn't know much about what had gone on there before he'd run away and ended up being picked up off the streets by Madam Christmas. Roy was just a naturally taciturn, tight-lipped person, and either didn't want to talk about it or didn't know how, and Maes had never felt right prying into a past it seemed Roy just wanted to leave buried. Most of what he'd pieced together was from details his best friend had let slip after a night of drinking. Most of it was not very pleasant.

He didn't know how much it had influenced him, or still truly bothered him. He did know that current circumstances had dredged it all back up to the present in a way that was entirely unpleasant, and that Roy's continued ordeal with stress and anxiety and illness wasn't helping matters at all.

He tried not to think about how much of this wasn't going to just go away when his body had stabilized but his mind still wouldn't.

Because he'd hate himself for Ishval, and now, he'd hate himself for this, too. And an unbiased observer might even say he deserved it- the first, at least, and Maes didn't doubt there'd be many who'd say the second.

And those would be the voices that Roy would listen to.

Not Maes'.

Roy did not speak, and Maes didn't, either, because he knew his words would fall on deaf or at the least unwilling ears. His best friend just sat there slumped over, head on his arms, defeated and exhausted like all the fight had gone out of him. The blanket dragged a little now, dangerously close to slipping off his shoulders to puddle on the floor. Roy, despite his overdramatic love of it earlier, did not seem like he would care very much if it did.

After several moments, though, head still down, Roy reached a scarred, limp hand over, and started eating at the remains of the sandwich again.

Maes doubted it was because he was hungry still, or even wanted it at all. In fact, his best guess was just that Roy knew he'd be better off with it, and was thus forcing his own hand.

At least that was something, he thought reluctantly. At least Roy was trying to take care of himself again... no matter how much he might not want to.

Maes let the rest of the meal pass in silence. The food tasted like cardboard in his mouth, and everything on his tongue was bitter.

* * *

Roy didn't say much for the rest of the day- or _do_ much, for that matter. True to his word, he seemed to feel a little better today. A taciturn Roy was actually a more _normal_ one; the anxiously chattering one who rambled a mile a minute was not, and Maes would've been lying if he'd said he wasn't glad to see him gone.

But he seemed calm enough, now. Still a bit displeased with Maes' presence, and _definitely_ displeased that everything he'd used to self-medicate until now was off limits, but now choosing to stew on his irritation and bite his tongue rather than dump it all on Maes. He curled up in a corner of his couch, that precious blue blanket of his always within reach as he slowly scratched away at a stack of paperwork with as much focus as he could scrape together. It was slower than he'd ever been, obviously fighting distraction with every line, and was irrelevant by this point anyway because they both knew Hawkeye had already requested replacement forms and Roy's signature would be worthless until he officially returned to work- but it kept him occupied.

Maes wouldn't complain. Whatever Roy needed to feel or at least fake stability, he could do.

Hell, Maes wouldn't complain if Roy's one way to feel better was a screaming fit or burning the paperwork for kindling or even striking at him. If it made him feel better...

He was just so _tired_ of seeing his best friend in pain and being helpless to fix it. He'd take _anything,_ at this point- anything at all that made him feel just the slightest bit better. Even if that anything at all was irrelevant paperwork.

Even if Roy's hand was laid on a nearby circle, dormant and old, but metal fingers still tracing the curves like a lover, the entire time.

Irrelevant paperwork morphed into an obsessive sort of cleaning, washing dishes and dusting crevices and straightening out his desk in a nervous sort of compulsion, still avoiding conversation with Maes but at least answering questions with monosyllabic grunts. The place _did_ desperately need cleaning, although he doubted Roy cared- his best friend, again, just seemed filled with too much nervous energy to sit still.

Uncomfortable quiet still reigned. Based on how easily whatever discussions they had seemed to be sucked back towards Melissa and everything that had happened to him, Maes imagined Roy preferred the silence.

They'd managed to find a rough sort of pattern, these past couple of days, even if it was one dictated by Roy's cycles of sickness and irritation. Roy would spend the day dodging his company, dodging attempts to make him eat, dodging any and all conversation, fidgeting around his scarred apartment because he couldn't sit still and trying not to lose his head. At some point, the clock would tick late enough to be an appropriate time to try for sleep, and Roy would continue fidgeting around for a while after that while Maes fought his eyes back open over and over again, exhausted and worn, until the colonel finally gave in and curled up on his bed, to toss and turn for another hour, and pass into a nightmare-ridden sleep that he'd scream out of at dawn... only to start the cycle over again.

Maes, as worn as he was, was desperately ready for Roy to finally give in and sleep. He couldn't keep up with his friend's twists and turns for much longer.

The clock ticked past ten. Roy continued working.

Past eleven. Maes' jaw hurt from yawning. He imagined Roy's hands hurt, from all the fidgeting he was doing. None of it had even moved him close to his room.

Past midnight.

Roy's pacing hadn't even slowed.

By now, it was _just_ that- Roy turned from corner to corner of his room, each step measured and exact, hand trailing along the walls for a circle to always be in reach. The automail glinted in the low light, cold and cruel, as cold as his face was tired, eyes almost wild but never once flickering shut. He paced and panted and glared at nothing, turning and turning like a confined bull, and it had been _two hours,_ and he wasn't calming down, and for just a heartbeat Maes actually wished to just turn his back and let Roy at whatever hidden stash he had here, just so they could _both_ shut their eyes and get some damn sleep.

He didn't consider it. But he really, really wished that he could.

Another yawn struggled past his locked teeth, making his throat hurt and his jaw ache no matter how hard he tried to shove it back. Roy's steady pacing didn't break by even an inch, but his angry, twitchy eyes twitched onto him.

"You can go to sleep," Roy bit out, short and clipped. "Use my bed. You look like you need it."

Maes just glared, too tired to gesture or push himself upright. "We both know I can't."

Roy's jaw tensed again, dark eyes resting on him for several moments, but there was not a reply forthcoming and he swiftly turned his back again, still pacing. He reached the other wall again, back still to him, and hesitated, twitching and hand all but pawing at an array. "There's.... there's no reason for you to get yourself sick just because of me. You should-" he tried, then stopped, shuddering again.

Again, there was nothing more for Maes to say to that that he hadn't already said.

He stayed quiet for several moments, just watching him. Again, the sight struck at him quietly like the distant ringing of a bell, a reminder of deja vu from miles away, when Roy had been younger but no less guiltstricken and smaller but no less haunted, when Maes had been an unwilling keeper who didn't want the leash in his hands but Roy would bark at the walls and bite himself without it. He remembered the panic attacks after the Ishval, the near nervous breakdowns, Maes watching as Roy lost his mind and being absolutely helpless to calm him down.

Back then, little had worked.

Roy had been willing to try even less.

"...hey, buddy?" Maes put forth cautiously, eyes still resting on his tense back, almost coiled like a spring.

Roy continued twitching, cold hand still planted against the wall and one of his precious arrays. He said nothing.

Maes swallowed tightly, bracing himself as best he could. _Patience..._ "Do you think... well, I know things are different right now, but it always used to help you calm down- do you think it'd be okay if you went outside? Walked it off?"

For another heartbeat, again, Roy stayed quiet, back still to him. Maes, exhausted and strained but _desperate,_ tried again. "It always seemed like it really helped you... and you've got to try _something,_ buddy, this- this isn't sustainable. It's not, you know it's not. ...Come on, Roy... _please._.."

But as much as he begged, he knew it wasn't the same. That he might as well be begging a brick wall to fall over because everything was different now, _Roy_ was different, and what might have worked back then had no promise of working now. Back then Roy had been haunted by ghosts of the dead, not the living. Back then Roy hadn't been so wary and stricken he'd hide at a knock on his door, back then he had hated himself more than he'd wanted to hide from the world, back then-

Back then it had been easier to make Roy accept his help, because some part of him, even buried underneath all that angry self-loathing, had known he had to claw himself back together because there was still good he had left to do.

Maes, as much as it sickened him to realize it, no longer knew if this tensed, trembling Roy before him believed that at all.

His friend remained hunched at first, fingers twitching against the array like he couldn't decide between activating it and scratching through it from head to toe. "It feels like my heart's trying to beat right out of me," he grunted, voice low and almost indecipherable underneath his rough pants, and his fist clenched again.

Maes smiled unsteadily, unsure of whether to laugh at that or not.

Then, achingly slowly, the colonel turned his head back to blink at him over his shoulder. His eyes were clouded and fatigued- but his voice, of all things, was steady.

"I'll try anything," he said, and cracked a hollow, hopeless grin.

There was no hope in his eyes, either.

But there was a willingness to try, and that was all Maes needed to work with.

A few minutes passed in short order after that, the both of them getting ready as best they could past a haze of exhaustion. Maes dragged on Roy's coat because it was all he had that fit him, sure he made a ridiculous sight with a dark military coat clutched over pajamas, while Roy was even worse, the same sloppy and by now stained clothes he'd been wearing for days with an old, garish scarf draped even more sloppily around his neck, hiding the scars there because Maes was the only person Roy had even let see them in months. Maes had to force him to put shoes on when his best friend stumbled for the door, bare foot, then when Roy's shaking hands had fumbled and fumbled and fumbled with the laces Maes had had to kneel down and tie them himself.

Roy's pale, sweaty face flushed a faint red, and the moment he could, he pulled so jerkily away it nearly knocked Maes right over onto his back.

Then he was outside, and Maes was stumbling at his heels to lock the door and see him down the stairs and keep up with his pace. He was already moving too fast for it to really be considered an easy stroll but with the nervous energy that seemed to have filled him up to the brim- and looking at his slim, quickly retreating back, the way he shoved his hands into his pockets to hide the shaking, head bowed in the dark of the street...

It was too similar to the Roy he remembered Ishval shattering into a hundred pieces and tossing them back to Maes, one by one, in a mismatched jigsaw puzzle that could never be put back together.

It was too close to that thing that had spent months masquerading as his best friend.

It was too fucking far away from the Roy that he knew, from anything that he'd ever wanted his best friend to be- and also so stubbornly the truth that there wasn't anything Maes could do to deny it.

A cold descended down over his shoulders, shrouding around so tightly it suffocated him, and turned his stomach sick like he'd just eaten a rotten egg.

He kept his silence, though. Just let his eyes rest on Roy's back, because he very clearly wasn't up to talking, and bit his tongue, because of all the things he needed right now, an interrogation wasn't one of them.

How on earth had he missed this?

How long had this been brewing in the shadows, stewing and morphing and growing worse and worse until it had shattered in this disaster but Maes had somehow been blind to it _all?_ He'd sworn to himself the day Roy had left his home to go back to his new apartment, to go and be _alone,_ that he wouldn't let that be a mistake- he'd taken care of Roy while he stayed with him and he'd promised to continue to do so even once he was gone, to always check up on him, to always watch him, to make _sure_ he was something approaching okay or at least wasn't spiraling. He'd promised himself and he'd tried so hard to fulfill it, not for his sake, but for Roy's.

And all of that hard work had turned into this.

Roy, shaking and distraught in the middle of the night, sweating, one hand drifting twitchily near his abdomen to surely palm an array that Maes had no doubt was scarred into him, barely slept in days, barely eaten in days, a haunted almost ghost that probably would've been happier if he could lie down to sleep and not wake up.

 _This_ was what all of Maes' care and protection and desperate attempts to keep Roy safe and healthy had become.

Because this had not come out of nowhere.

Maes could blame it on the drugs and increasingly painful withdrawals if he wanted, but that _wasn't_ all it was. A big part of it probably was, it was surely the reason why he was _sick,_ but this was more than that, and it hadn't sprung up out of the blue. Roy had been hiding it from him for months, and Maes...

Maes had let him do it.

Maes had let Roy fool him because that, in his heart of hearts, that was what he had _wanted_. He'd so desperately wanted for his little late night talks and visits and his attempts to watch Roy and his promise to always be there on the other end of the phone no matter what to be enough that he'd convinced himself it had been. He'd let Roy fool him. Because he'd wanted to be fooled, and because the truth was more than he'd been able to bear.

He'd let Roy hide his trauma so he could selfishly pretend he'd fixed him, and he'd closed his eyes and plugged his ears to his best friend suffering in silence and drowning himself in stolen drugs until it had gotten too bad for even him to ignore.

Maes' stomach tightened with sickened guilt, and once again, he found himself helpless to do anything but just keep silent and follow.

He should've stopped this.

He _should've stopped this._

Roy led the way, skittishly choosing turns and alleys with some sort of rhyme or reason that went far above Maes' head, but at least he seemed to know where he was going. That was good, for once. Maes had absolutely no desire to find himself lost in the middle of Central in the middle of the night. Roy, in fact, did not even seem to be headed towards the middle of Central; he turned away from the paths that would lead them towards the heart of the city, the bars, the pulse of sprawling downtown, instead leading them away- probably to anywhere that wouldn't run them into people.

Maes couldn't blame him.

Finally, the nervous, raving stagger slowed. It was near the playground he took Elicia to, he realized absentmindedly, past a sluggish sort of haze, watching as Roy stumbled instead of jogged over the sidewalk, hands shaking by his sides and clutching at his hair. "I still feel like I'm going to- to-. To."

"To lose it?" Maes finished flatly.

His best friend gave a jerky nod, even while still not turning to face him. "...yeah." He dithered back and forth, turning left than right, then finally fell still, hands falling again and shoulders slumping. He heaved in one great, shaking breath, clearly intended to calm, and ducked his head, staring hopelessly down to the concrete.

Something in Maes' chest twisted again.

No, this _hadn't_ come out of nowhere.

But this hadn't been happening, either- hadn't even had a chance to happen. Not until Roy had started taking those dammed pills.

Slowly, feet dragging behind him, Maes forced himself over to the nearest bench. He glared downwards to his own unsteady hands, his heart pounding in his ears and an equal mix of guilt and some sort of strange, half justified rage sweeping through him from head to toe.

"Why the hell you'd do this to yourself, Roy?" he bit out, staring miserably at the ground.

Maybe he shouldn't have been mad at Roy. But he was, and this was where they were.

His friend stayed quiet for a heartbeat, back still to him and shoulders trembling. Then, hoarsely, he let out a chilling sort of laugh. He tilted his head back to stare upwards at the night sky, worryingly pale and cold and distant and his smile unsettling.

Several moments passed in cold silence. Then Roy just turned back around, grinning chillingly, and dropped himself to sit back down next to Maes, metal fingers interlacing together in his lap before ripping apart to tap on his legs.

"Has it ever occurred to you," he said finally, "that the reason I took those things in the first place is because it was _already_ this bad? That maybe I went to such lengths because I was actually trying to get better, not just get high?"

"...you... Roy, I-..."

His friend chuckled coldly again, but it sounded more distant than before, removed. The strange smile on his face started to slip, morphing into something a little more genuine- and a lot more miserable.

"It wasn't so bad, at first," he murmured, gazing blearily into the distance. "There were good days and bad days, some days worse than others, but it was bearable. I could deal with that, as long as I had a few sane moments to be able to reorient myself around. And then... then, the scale just kept tilting. First there were more bad days than good, then the good ones were just a rarity, and- and soon, at some point I opened my eyes and realized they just weren't there anymore." He paused, jaw tensing a little as he frowned up at the sky. "I couldn't eat or sleep. I- I know what you're thinking, Maes, but I'm serious, I _couldn't._ I tried eating but I'd just end up throwing it up. I couldn't calm down enough at night to sleep and whenever I did finally manage it it was a far fucking throw from restful. I don't... I think killing Archer made it _worse._ Before then I still had something to do, something more important, I wasn't _allowed_ to fall apart, but once he was gone and your family was safe... suddenly, it all just... it was all just _there_ again and I couldn't stop it. It was like something was broken in my head all along but only actually fell apart when I didn't have anyone to keep safe, and I couldn't put it back together."

He sank back against the bench after a few hopeless moments of struggling silence, expression shrouding over with upset once again as he shut his mouth, either refusing or just unable to go on. The distress etched into his face was unassailable, but Maes still couldn't stop himself from trying, cautiously pushing himself a little closer for his shoulder to brush against Roy's. There was no response from his miserable, unfocused eyes, but- but at least it wasn't a _bad_ response. That was probably the most that he could hope for.

He didn't need Roy to go on.

He understood himself very well how much a necessary goal, something immediately at hand to fix, could help. He'd been through it himself in Ishval, staying sane in a war zone because it was a goddamn war zone- only to start to crumble when he'd finally made it back home.

It had been a horrible, guilty sort of feeling. That he'd been strong enough to survive the war itself but weak enough to fall apart in the aftermath, and in some ways he'd only clawed himself back together precisely because he'd not had a choice, because Roy had needed him and Gracia couldn't see him as he'd been. He'd turned it into another war, albeit only a personal one, because the only way he'd been able to deal with any of it had been if he hadn't allowed himself a choice.

Maes, however, had actually been able to silence those screams in his head.

Roy hadn't.

"You..." he heard himself starting, voice hoarse in the cold, night air, hoarse and unconvincing even to his own ears. Unconvincing and pathetic. "You could've taken some time off, Roy- could've- I don't know, talked to _someone,_ I..."

"Time off? For what?" Roy laughed bitterly, but there was self-deprecation in his jaw and nothing approaching laughter in his eyes. "To have a panic attack in my bedroom instead of my office? Talk to someone? So lying on some shrink's couch and spelling out exactly how it feels to be raped will suddenly make it not feel that way?" He glanced half-heartedly in Maes' direction, dark, still startlingly wild eyes staring through hair that was growing longer again, longer like he hadn't had it since the night he'd tried to kill himself. "Maes. I _did_ all of it. I did it _all,_ okay? I took _months_ to try and recover, and I talked to you, I talked to my own reflection, hell I had to sit down with a military shrink just so I could convince them to let me come back at all. I did everything you're supposed to do, and I kept trying, and- and it didn't _work._ I couldn't sleep or eat, some days I couldn't fucking..."

He trailed off for several moments, still staring at Maes, then just threw his head back and draped himself loosely around the bench, miserable grin just a little... unhinged. It was chilling and unsettling, and even more so in the silence that dragged on for several cold moments afterward, Roy's metal fingers twitching away and his scarred hands shaking- and it was the most unsettling that this entire evening had been when his best friend took in another shuddering breath, squared his shoulders, and went on.

"You're... going to yell at me. Probably." He pushed sloppily at his hair, brushing it out of his eyes, only for the unkempt, damp strands to fall right back into them again. "And you know? Saying this is probably a horrible idea. I'm going to regret it in the morning. But I can't shut myself up, I can't calm down because _you_ took everything I used to calm down away, _Maes,"_ he all but spat, then abruptly smiled loosely again, teeth almost chattering. "Yeah, I'm going to regret it, but- but do you really want to know how bad it was? Why I decided taking something that would just tell my brain to shut up was the right thing to do?"

Maes found himself at a loss for words; certainly at a loss for anything even approaching helpful. He stared at his best friend, confusion mixing with a sudden need to know what he was talking about. He opened his mouth and shut it, words struggling in his mouth, because on one hand, wouldn't it be unfair of him to use his vulnerability now to pry into something it seemed Roy was going to regret saying? Shouldn't he change the subject, stop him-?

But Maes was too naturally inquisitive, too damn worried about Roy, too focused on finding out the truth to stop and consider if that was really the best thing for him. He was just too _scared,_ so worn out from so many days of watching his best friend suffer and him powerless to do anything but just listen to him scream and cry and _hurt,_ and so instead of thinking about what the right thing to do here really was, he swallowed his protests, and he asked, "Why did you, Roy?"

Roy was quiet for another moment. Teeth chattering, hands shaking, head tilted back and nervous eyes flickering incessantly between him and the overcast sky.

Then, he laughed.

"I was a prostitute," he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will come on Monday >:D


	12. Stand Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments/kudos!

Another uncomfortable silence dominated. This time, for once, it wasn't Roy's fault. This time, for perhaps the first time all evening, it wasn't because Roy couldn't find the words, but because his chatterbox of a best friend had been thrown for such a new one he might as well have been strangled.

Roy laughed again, the sound strange and foreign even to his own ears. He couldn't imagine how it sounded to Maes.

Finally, face still stricken and pale, Maes shifted forward a little, reaching cautiously forward to try and touch his hand. "Roy, no- it wasn't your cho-"

"But it _was,"_ he laughed back, though it was hardly funny, though he'd misled Maes just a little bit on purpose because some part of him _did_ find it morbidly funny, because it was too late and he was too tired and he hadn't been able to stop feeling like this for _months._ "All of this... I'm not talking about what Archer did. I'm talking about _now,_ Maes. I started feeling worse, and worse, and worse, and at some point it got to where I knew none of it was sustainable but that still didn't give me a way out. It felt like everything was falling apart and t-there... like there was always something just _yelling_ in my head..."

And that voice had gotten _louder..._ every day since Maes has robbed his medication from him, every day that he'd spent since and hadn't been able to sleep or think or _breathe..._

Roy took in another shuddering breath, one that felt achingly shallow and like it didn't not even reach his lungs, and clenched his always sore hands around the wooden edge of the bench.

"It felt wrong," he finally went on, aborting his previous attempt, because Maes already thought little enough of him, nowadays; he didn't need to give his best friend any support for the idea that he was _insane._ "I told you before, Maes... it- it felt _wrong._ I w-was so used to- to having to earn... everything. I was supposed to earn the right to eat, to sleep, to fucking think. And that didn't just stop when one morning I woke up in the hospital instead of... _there_. I told you, I just- I put it on hold, somehow, as long as I had Archer to stop I could manage that, but once I didn't have anything else it all reared up again and it got even worse until I just couldn't think straight anymore. And suddenly it was three in the morning, and I hadn't eaten in over a day because I couldn't convince myself I was allowed to, and I couldn't stop thinking about- that I was _supposed_ to do it," _because they'd told him over and over and over he wasn't worth anything more than that, he only deserved to breathe if it gave someone who could afford him an orgasm,_ "and I couldn't- justify-" and now he wasn't making sense, because he couldn't put it into words, and Maes had to now think he was _insane-_

But it didn't matter, because that changed nothing.

He'd felt worthless. Crazy, purposeless with Fuhrer no longer in reach, useless without Archer to stop, and- and he supposed, in some twisted way, it made sense. He'd spent so long having it beaten into him his only worth was in what his body could do for others, that he only had the right to exist if it was for someone else's fucked up pleasure-

What surprise was it, really, that he'd fallen right back into old habits even when the choice had no longer been robbed from him?

Meanwhile, Maes was staring at him in cold, wordless horror. Eyes wide in shock, and face almost green, like he was about to be sick.

Roy laughed humorlessly to himself, as hollow and sick as Maes probably saw him, and finally forced himself to continue on.

"It was... easy. So easy even I was surprised, at first." He looked down at his hands, flexing them a little in his lap, turning them over, watching the white scars twist and curl along his skin. "Go to the right parts of town, look the right way, and nobody really wants to ask the wrong questions. Just _how much_ and _how rough?_ " He smirked to himself again, shaking his head a little, because neither of those questions had even mattered.

He'd given all the money away. Sometimes to a charity, if he'd been able to stomach it. Sometimes it had felt so disgusting in his hands he'd just left it on the nearest street corner.

And as for how rough...

He smirked a little again, even as his stomach turned, and his hands shook.

The kind of men who crawled around those seedy parts of town looking to hire male prostitutes weren't exactly the sweetest of escorts. There'd been some, sure- some who'd wanted to be able to pretend they were with their wives, who'd been gentle so long as he fit their fantasy. Who'd been gentle as long as he kissed the right way and made the right noises and was as submissive as a wet blanket. It was a role he'd learned only too well, and a role he'd been able to play, with only minimal disgust.

They'd been the minority.

Most had wanted a piece of flesh of the male variety, angry and upset that they lived in a country that wouldn't allow them that legally, and had taken it out on him.

He'd been used to that, too.

That was okay.

This time, there'd been no one there to punish him for not taking it.

This time, he'd not been the nameless 5572. He'd been the Flame Alchemist. Hated and abused much more viciously than a nameless slave, perhaps, but this time- _this time-_ he'd been the Flame Alchemist in more than name alone.

No one who had gone past his stated limits had gotten away with it. He'd sent more than one to the ER.

The circle etched into his flesh stung quietly again, a pain he knew better than any other, now. It stung and stung harder and burned until smoke whistled gently, just grasping at the hem of his shirt before he shut it off, extinguishing the fires into nothing.

He'd willingly let himself turn into 5572 again. But this time, he hadn't been scared, because it had always been his choice. This time, that hadn't been all he was any more.

And it had _helped._

As sick and crazy as it was, it had actually _helped._ For it to always be his choice, for him to _know_ it was his choice, and take control of it with every step of the way. For the first time in months, part of him had finally actually genuinely felt better to take control of what he'd been through, and go through it again, but this time under his own terms. To be more than just 5572.

Roy smiled slightly to himself, tracing the new burns through his shirt. That wasn't _all_ he was- but as much as Maes was surely going to protest against him, all of the bitch fits he would throw, no matter how vehemently he'd try to say otherwise-

That _was_ still a true part of who he was. The scars on the back of his neck proclaimed it, clear as day, and it was far too late for him to be strong enough to cast if off.

It had been easier to accept it, and stop fighting it.

A long, delicate sort of silence stretched across the deserted park, so late at night. Roy let his head fall back to smile miserably at the overcast sky, hands still jittering loosely in his lap and a faint buzzing still filling his ears, heart stumbling along the same chaotic rhythm that it had all night long and with no hint of slowing or calming. The whole situation was somehow uproariously funny to him, a sick, dark sort of sense of humor permeating through him and curling his tongue perhaps solely because it was better to laugh than to cry.

And, Maes...

Maes sat limply next to him, horrified gaze still rooted on him in wordless shock and disbelief, anguish and something close to disgust in his eyes and Roy found he couldn't argue against them one bit. His best friend was just frozen there and staring at him, and Roy _might've_ felt guilty, because he knew Maes was going to blame himself and he didn't deserve that, but it had been just a little bit too long and he was just a little bit too restless to care. It was liberating to say it and the panic still infecting his brain was too severe for him to want to take it back.

"So what was your plan, exactly, Roy?"

Roy flinched a little, bristling more at the ice cold, frighteningly calm words than what had been asked. He rolled his head over to glance at Maes out of the corner of his eye, finding his friend settled still on the bench beside him, unbearably tense and his jaw clenched tight, a subtle sort of cold wrath brimming through perfectly motionless form from head to toe. His fists were clenched in his lap and eyes narrowed angrily into the dark, and for just a moment, something small and frightened in him pulled away.

Maes did not look at him still, but he leaned forward slowly, settling his elbows on his knees to glare into the space before him. "How were you planning on this ending? Hmm?"

Roy shrugged a little, offering up an easygoing smile, starting to forge on ahead- but Maes, apparently, was not interested in sitting around to listen. "Maybe I was going to get woken up by some late night call, you asking me to come bail you out of _jail_ after you got picked up in a raid?" he asked quietly, a monotone but one thick with a suppressed, tired anger. "What if someone had recognized you, Roy, threatened to blackmail you with it- did you have a plan for that?"

Roy bristled in irritation, turning his glare back onto Maes again. "Blackmail for what? It's not as if I was headed up the ranks anyway, so what if-"

"Or what if you'd gotten sick?" he hissed, suddenly shoving himself up onto his feet from the bench to spin around and face him, giving one violent gesture of his hand as he paced like a wild, caged cat. "God forbid, Roy, what if someone had given you something? As if you weren't lucky enough to still have your health already- you say you only took those pills because you had to but then you actively go off and throw away your health with this, I- what's _wrong_ with you?!"

"I-"

But Maes was not even close to done.

"You could've been arrested! You could've gotten sick! You could've _died!_ Roy, you could've died, do you realize that?! Don't tell me you had your gloves and everything was fine, I don't care, Roy, I _do not_ care, you don't just willingly inject yourself into every dangerous thing you can find just because you have some grenades in your pockets, you could've _died!_ And for what?! _For what?!_ You-" Maes spun back around in his pacing to advance back on Roy, panting and wild-eyed as if all the strain from these past few horrific weeks was piling on his shoulders all at once and he was crumbling under the pressure, falling apart before his eyes because he was _still not_ done. "You ass, this is what you do, this always- you spent months calling yourself a whore, you spent months saying you didn't know how to be anything else, and _this_ is how you dealt with that?! _This_ is what you thought was going to help?! _Getting high and selling yourself?! After what you've already been through?!"_

Something flinched back and fled inside him, wanting to scream or cover his head or run or all three, but his legs were numb and his hands still shook and his heart raced. He started to pull away, the array etched into his skin stinging with a manic energy that ate through his stomach and burned with a sick heat, but Maes advanced even after that, too, pressing even closer to tower over him and red-faced, angry, and somewhere in those eyes, Roy could see terror, as he shouted on.

"You _always_ do this, Roy, this is _always_ what you do, and you can't anymore! Do you hear me?! You're killing yourself with this!" His hand shot forward to grab at Roy by the collar, not hauling him up but even when fear shot through his spine and he flinched back away he still did not let go, eyes furious in the low light and drilling through him like an escapable blow of blame. "You waste all of your stupidly brilliant brain on conniving and scheming ways to make yourself miserable, dragging together some stupid plan to twist yourself through each day like suicide or misery is your goddamn life goal! Do you hate yourself that much, Roy? Is that it? Do you really just fucking hate yourself _that much?_ You did this before, Roy, you remember- you came back from Ishval and you were a wreck, you were content to waste away in the bottom of a bottle or some suicidal array because that was what it took to get you through the day, and you didn't _care_ that if you kept at it it didn't matter if it got you through the day because it was just going to lead you into an early grave. And I thought you were smart enough not to do it again, but I was wrong, wasn't I?! _Wasn't I?!"_

Maes shook Roy, demanding an answer with those fierce, fierce eyes that choked panic to close off his throat and burn seethingly hot in the array scarred into his flesh, but there was no break in the rapid-fire rant for an answer. "You've been drugging yourself senseless by day and selling yourself by night for months, haven't you?! _Why,_ Roy?! Did you just set about to break a record, craft the _worst_ fucking plan you could, try to make yourself as absolutely _miserable_ as earthly possible with every second of your existence?! To just hurt yourself as much as you could but as long as you still had some illusion of control over it, it was okay?! _Why,_ Roy, for god's sake-" He shook him again, knuckles scraping against his neck with reckless abandon only to abruptly let him loose, dropping him to fall back on his unsteady heels then cuffing him across the chest again, anguish in his eyes and in that moment Roy wanted nothing more than to stop existing.

"W-why didn't you just- just _talk_ to me?! Why didn't you say something?! I would've helped you! Roy-" His voice broke, his best friend staring at him with suddenly wet eyes and his face heartbroken but now in silence. He worked his jaw a few times as if trying to say something, but all words had been robbed away and he was unable to go on, powerless for any route forward except- except-

He raised a trembling hand, turned as if to strike him. It wavered in the air, as shaky as the hurt and almost-tears in his eyes, fingers shaking as it nearly curled into a fist.

Then he dropped it back limply down to his side with an aura of equally heartbroken defeat.

A breath of panic later, and Roy followed it.

His knees hit the rough, bruising pavement, legs numb and arms cold even as they wrapped around himself to curl into a little ball. Fear clutched around his heart, a sick fear that he hated with every fiber of his being yet was too weak to live without. He collapsed messily backwards onto the cold, dewy grass, hard breaths chattering past clenched teeth and a miserable, torn apology caught in his throat, because he was sorry, so sorry, Maes was mad at him and so he was sorry- Maes was upset with him, that wasn't safe, he wasn't supposed to do that-

This-

_I..._

_..._

_I can't do this anymore._

At some point in the dark, cold night, some distant, only still barely sane part of Roy's head recognized Maes crouching back down in front of him. He lifted a hand as if to touch him, he just barely glimpsed it out of the corner of his eye, and then, as if thinking better of it, lowered it right back down gently to the ground in a gesture of peace.

"Roy," he tried quietly. "I'm sorry. Please, you don't have to... to do that. ...Roy."

He barely even heard Maes' soft, guilt-choked words. The apology soared over his head and somewhere far away, not registering once against the panic shrouding in around him, and he just wanted to melt into the ground and die.

He was scared of his own best friend and upset and hurt and miserable and he _could not_ do this any more.

It was more than he could bear.

 _"Roy,"_ Maes tried again, even softer but somehow more insistent than before. He carefully eased his hand forwards a little again, hovering in the air as if a silent offer of comfort.

Then, after a breath of silence, he just let it fall weakly back to the ground.

It felt like he couldn't even breathe without each shallow gasp catching on something hollow in his chest, lurching from him in stuttery terror. All some part of him could still see was Maes standing over him, red-faced with anger and eyes wild with horror... and hand raised to strike him.

He'd have deserved it, too... he'd have deserved it and so much more over and over again because there was no bound to what he was sorry for anymore and all that he'd done wrong- he'd deserve it if Maes got up right now and left him sitting there alone in the dark on the cold, rough ground.

He _wanted_ him to go. He _wanted_ to be left alone out here to never be found again. He wanted to- after all that he'd _done-_

He was so sick and tired of wanting nothing more than a moment's peace and even that was too much to ask for because his mind was broken and defective and he just couldn't _do this anymore-_

Because Maes was right.

Wasn't he?

He'd had every opportunity to claw himself up to be something better than this. So many people who'd loved him who'd tried to save him. Every single outstretched, helping hand in the world to try and pull him back to something that he could endure.

And he'd rejected them all to turn into this instead.

A weak, pathetic drug addict shivering out here in the middle of the night due to his own inability to stand up on his own that was such a mess he wouldn't have even been able to care for his own baby if the mother could've even borne looking at him. Which she couldn't, because he'd broken her, too. Maes had saved his life months ago and given him all the help in the world and this was what he'd returned to him.

 _This_ was what he'd chosen.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Maes... I'm sorry, Riza..._

_I'm sorry, Melissa._

_Everyone._

_I'm so, so sorry._

"You're right," he choked at last. His voice struggled and died in his throat to dwindle into a hollow caricature of who he once was, and it just _hurt_. "I was miserable. Okay? I was miserable and I hated everything that I was doing and I wanted to stop. I... I w-wanted to die."

Maes stiffened again before him, hand jerking up off the ground with a rickety sort of gasp, but Roy could not face him. He closed his eyes on reflex, flinching away from the judgment, the guilt, the horror, the pity he knew he'd see, flinching away from it all to duck his head back down into his arms and whisper to his knees, because facing his best friend was more than he could bear- but he did not have it in him to remain silent any more.

"I wanted to... every single time one of them touched me I wanted to die, Maes. I wanted to throw up or kill them or kill myself, b-but I- I couldn't stop, Maes. T-that was _why_ I started taking something at all. I just wanted to... t-to _stop..."_ He slumped, defeat sucking the strength out of him to leave him hollow and empty inside, collapsing over onto his knees to all but whimper. "I... I just...

"I just wanted to be normal again."

But the whispered words were a lie.

And they both knew it.

There was no normal for him anymore. It had been stolen from him just over a year ago when he'd woken up to Archer's smiling face and a brand on his neck and there was no getting it back.

He'd tried, and he'd failed.

And that was that.

Again, as gently and carefully as if trying to touch a startled animal, Maes' hand came forward. It hovered for a moment in the air before him, uncertain and afraid, only to then softly venturing closer to him to barely, just _barely,_ brush his knee.

Half of Roy was terrified. The other half of him felt pathetic and undeserving and wanted to run.

Half was scared, half was undeserving, and all of him was desperate and lonely and scared and he leaned forward before flinching away. Maes was angry at him, Maes was upset with him, Maes wanted to hit him and was disgusted with him, but Maes was still _there_ and that was more than Roy'd believed he'd ever have again.

So he leaned forward, and Maes, with a low, anguished sort of keening sound, leaned closer too. The hand on his knee drifted carefully closer to brush his shoulder instead, trembling against his collar, and Roy couldn't bear to pull away.

"Did it- d-did it help?"

Misery caught in his throat again, swelling in his heart until he could barely speak. Something hollow lived in his chest and he couldn't function past it, couldn't even raise his head enough to meet his eyes. All he could do was work a vague, questioning whimper past the lump in his throat, only to again be claimed by silence.

"The drugs," Maes somehow managed, voice sounding almost near tears as the hand gingerly tightened over his shoulder again, thumb caressingly gently. "What you took. I... y-you can't go back to _this,_ but- but if it helped you- maybe we could find something different, maybe there's something that'd be safer for you- whatever if it is, if they really did help you, Roy, if it's... if it's w-what you need..."

A hesitant silence dragged on through the cold and the dark, Maes' thick, desperate voice echoing gently in his ears. Roy stayed down on his knees, face hidden by his arms, and too shaken right down to his soul to ever face him.

For an impossible moment, he was stricken with deja vu, the memory of another walk taken late at night at the behest of one of the Hughes family, a conversation that he hadn't been ready to have, and the promise of support that he did not deserve. It was ironic, he thought, thought on the beginnings of a miserable, broken little laugh. Gracia had dragged him, that night, past the line he hadn't been strong enough to step over on himself, giving him enough strength for him to finally try standing on his own even if just so he wouldn't crush Maes by continuing to lean on him for it.

And now here was Maes, unwittingly or not, erasing every path forward that he'd had to show him the only path left was one straight into his grave.

"No," he admitted finally, high-pitched and fragile, almost cracking over the lump in his throat. Strangely, for a moment, he wanted to laugh. "No. It helped at first, but then I kept- I k-kept taking more- I kept _wanting_ more, and... no. I was just as miserable as before, just in different ways. It helped, then it didn't help at all."

 _Nothing helps,_ he heard distantly, a near whisper under the frantic pounding of his heart and shaking of his hands that hadn't eased since the withdrawals had started. _Nothing helps and nothing ever will again._

And why should it? _Why should it?!_ some half-mad voice screamed in his head, driving him halfway to laughter, halfway to tears. What goddamn right did he have for _anything_ to be okay ever again?! There was a human child out there who existed because of him and he couldn't take that back. There was no erasing the harm he'd done to the world. It was like there was something foul to his core, something horrible and disgusting that prevented him from doing good no matter how hard he tried; he'd ended hundreds of lives by his very hands then created just one more, but he'd perverted even that, turning it violent and terrible and wrong...

What right did he have to expect any better than what he had right now? This illusion of a life, miserable with each breath he took like something was rotting in him from the inside out, a hurt that grew in his stomach with every memory that crawled back to light, and a hurt that he knew was paltry and a flimsy shadow compared to the hurts he'd done to the world. What right did he have to be anything more than this crumbling, shivering addict down in the mud in the middle of the night, cast aside as trash and so scared of his own shadow it hurt to breathe?

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, the words dying against his knees. Maes flinched hard in front of him, the hand on his shoulder clenching through his sleeve to nearly knead a bruise in his skin, but Roy could not stop. "I... I let you down, Maes."

"W-what? Roy- Roy, no-"

"You did everything you could, and it wasn't enough. You wanted to save me. Y-you said... you told me months ago you'd do whatever it took... you'd give me whatever you had, t-that you just wanted me to be happy. And... you did. You did everything." He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply against his friend's shoulder, the shudder of the breath wracking down his spine until it hurt and he felt cold inside and out.

"You did everything, and I still couldn't do it. There's... nothing more that you can do for me."

_I don't deserve it._

There was another agonizing moment of stillness, Roy still with eyes only for the darkness of his knees, listening to his heart pound over and over again in a frantic stampede to a finish line that he didn't want to reach, and Maes, perfectly silent and motionless before him, hand paralyzed on his shoulder.

Then, with an anguished sort of moan, two impossibly warm arms folded around him and tugged him in close, crushing him against his chest for one hand to dig into his hair. "Don't say that," he moaned, "don't _say that, Roy,"_ but his best friend was so close and the promise of safety and- and love, so genuine in his ear, but miles away from the toxic seed of guilt worming ever deeper into his stomach, and before he knew it he was trembling again but this time his eyes were wet and he wanted nothing more than to sink into his arms and never exist again.

"Don't say that," Maes whispered to him again, and now he was gently stroking his hair; Roy could feel his the fingers catching in the tangles he hadn't combed in a week. "You only feel like this now because you're sick and still coming off that shit and it's- god, Roy, it's only been a few days since you found out about Melissa. It's bad now but if you can just stick it out a little longer, buddy, j-just a little bit longer... it'll get better, Roy, you _know_ it will. You know this isn't forever, you know you'll come out the other side! I _promise,_ Roy, you know you can do this!"

He couldn't.

He couldn't ever get better.

But Maes was still stroking his hair, holding him to him so tight it was hard to breathe, Maes' breaths were still rough and broken by his ear, one hand grasping convulsively in his shirt like he couldn't bear to let go, and if Roy was silently crying into his shoulder his best friend was halfway to sobbing, small little gasps of air that drilled through him like shards of shattering glass but he still was too weak to even have the will to comfort him back. But Maes was a far better friend than he was, because even in his own grief Maes still spoke; "You can do this, Roy," he was murmuring to him, like a parent to a lost child, "you can do this," but in a moment this made everything so much worse and nothing better at all.

Maes took care of him like this, as if it was nothing more than second nature for him to hold him in his arms and ease him back down off the edge, and maybe it was, to him. Maes was a husband and father at heart and some days Roy felt to be little more than a fucking child to be pieced back together again after a skinned knee; the hurt was so much deeper, perhaps, but the sense of helplessness was always the same.

But he wasn't a child. He was a goddammed _father._

He had a son or daughter out there, just waiting to be born, and here he was, on his knees in the middle of this _stupid_ park having this _pathetic_ breakdown in his best friend's arms and no more capable of being a father than the ants under his shoes. Maes was being a better fucking father to _him_ , his grown man of a best friend, than Roy knew how to be to his own child.

As if it even mattered. A half-laugh melted into a full sob to tumble out from his throat, splintering through his chest in a broken gasp that sliced his lungs in half until he could not even breathe. As if it _mattered_ what kind of a father he'd be.

He was never even going to see his baby. Not after what he'd done to the mother.

_She was my friend... and..._

_And I..._

"Everything's going to get better," Maes whispered to him, one hand clenching convulsively in his jacket again, the other continuing to stroke along the back of his head, but softer now, as if Maes had come back to himself and was doing it to comfort Roy now, not himself. "Not now, and... a-and maybe not soon, but- but it will. It always does. You _know_ it does, buddy." The hand on his shoulder tightened again, a promise of assurance and safety, then pulled him in closer again, as if if Maes' words weren't enough to protect him, his arms were going to make do beyond it. "You thought it was the end of the world in Ishval but you pulled yourself through. You thought it was the end of the world after but then pulled yourself through again. You- you _tried_ to die after Archer, you thought it was worse than it had ever been and you actually tried to do it but you _didn't,_ you kept fighting a-and I was- was _so_ proud of you-" his voice broke again, muffled into the top of his head as he clutched at him again, almost sobbing through his little speech, the heartfelt promise to always be there, the promise to keep him safe, the promise to stop this, whatever it was- he felt Maes press a fleeting kiss on top of his head and hold him even tighter to him again as if yanking him back from the edge of a cliff and Roy's heart lurched in despair and guilt all over again."You, y-you- you didn't make it _this far,_ damn it Roy, to give in now. You _know_ it'll get better. There's some way forward from here and we'll find it, no matter what it is. We'll find it."

Roy wanted to laugh again.

This time, he didn't.

The will for it, even a sick, morbid, humorless one like he still felt clutching at his heart, had long since died.

"She's pregnant, Maes," he said after a long stretch of nothing, the words muffled against Maes' chest but solid and damming all the same. "She's pregnant. That's not going away."

This time, it was Maes' turn to go quiet.

The hand in his hair stayed, the heartbeat in his ear held constant, and the warmth closing in all around never fell back, and the same truth that had haunted his mind like his own shadow for seven months flickered back to him again: that Maes would try, and try, and try, but he could not try enough, because Roy was too far down.

Maes could give and give and give until there was nothing left to give, and it was not going to be enough to save him.

"No," his best friend sighed at last, briefly pressing his face down into the top of his hair. "It's not. So... the only way you have left to go is up."

Up, Roy thought miserably. He rested his forehead against Maes' shoulder, listening to him breathe and feeling his steady heartbeat in time with Roy's own, frantically pounding away in his chest. He felt the arms around him and listened to his words and let them soak in like warm water through his shirt to cling to his skin on a cold day.

He remembered the look in Melissa's eyes when she'd seen him, and the gut-wrenching pang to know that even with that gun to his head, he'd done something unforgivable. That could never, for as long as he lived, be taken back, erased, or fixed.

Up.

_Up to what?_

Maes's arms tightened briefly around him again, one last gentle squeeze as his fingers combed through his hair, and then, his best friend pushed back to hold him tightly by the shoulders, staring down at him with a determined, steady gaze from which he could not escape. "So you're going to stand up," he told him, voice weak and unsteady and eyes still wet but the order as clear as lightning on a clear day. "You're... _we're_ going to stand up together, Roy, and we're going to get out of here, and you're going to keep fighting through this until you're better. Until you've kicked those dammed pills and your head is on right again. And when you're better we're going to find the way forward and we're going to take it, because you are not giving in now. I know it looks bad now, I know it might- might feel like there's no where left to go. But..."

And through the shame and despair gathering like a sticky molasses in Roy's throat and around his hands and heart, Maes dropped one hand from his shoulder to splay it across his chest instead, pressing into him in a demand he could never fall away from. "But as long as you're still alive- as long as this heart's still beating- there is still a path forward for us to take. And I know you're going to take it with me, because I know you, and I know you're not going to leave us all behind to try and fix this by ourselves. Whatever happens from here on out I know you'll be there to fight it because that's who you are, Roy, and no matter what you try and tell me I know that nothing Archer did can ever take that from you."

Roy stared up to him, despair and defeat still dragging at his every limb and every part of his being wanting to sink back into the ground, but resigned, now, to Maes' hauling him up right off the ground because that was what Maes did. He waited on the ground to be tugged up and have Maes turn him around for them to march back to his home; he waited down on his knees because that was where he belonged until he was forced up to his feet and given his next command.

Maes, however, did not take him by the arms and pull him up. Maes did not stare down and command him to rise.

Maes simply stood there in front of him, impassive and calm, steady hand held out and waiting.

He stood there, letting the cold seconds turn into a minute, unwavering before him and hand still held out, and did not move.

Even as the brisk, cold wind cut through the lonely darkness of the park did Maes not pull away. Not once was there a glimmer of so much as a hint of impatience in his eyes.

He simply stood there before Roy, held his hand out, and waited.

When the wind blew again, cold and impatient in all the ways Maes was not, this time, Roy reached out and took his hand. He used it to pull himself up to his numb, shaking legs and his numb, shaking feet, and he stood there before Maes, numb and shaking to his very core, and staring back into his eyes without a hope or a surrender or strength or defeat or guilt or power or even one single word left him.

Maes swallowed hard, staring right back at him with those steady, steady eyes. He planted one warm hand on his shoulder, spinning him gently around, then fell into step by his side with his arm still around him.

Together, they went home.

(art by [maikkuax/tiamal](https://maikkuax.tumblr.com/))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up on Wednesday!
> 
> Also I know it's starting to drag on juuust a little bit these past few chapters, Maes and Roy pretty much going in circles... well, we're about to hit the final arc next chapter. Stay tuned! :D


	13. Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments/kudos!

After that late night conversation in the park, as harrowing and horrifying and heartbreaking as it was, Maes hoped that they had passed a turning point. He hoped that they had turned a very important corner, and that Roy was going to at last going to be able to focus his gaze forwards again, and they were going to be able to crawl their way out of this damnable dark pit to the light again.

He had been wrong.

He had been wrong for one very simple reason:

The pep talk, if that was what it had been, had been what was needed to drag Roy's mind out of that hole of despair. It had not, however, been what was needed to drag his body with it.

Because from that day on, the withdrawals, and Roy with them, only got worse.

He spent the first day after that late night trek couch-bound with a fever, and as much as Maes tried to light-heartedly joke it was a cold from wandering about outside late at night, it was obvious it had nothing to do with that and everything to do with the drugs he was still trying to kick from his system. Maes tried plying him with ice packs and face compresses, even finding the heart to rob his precious blanket away when his fever just continued to climb- but to little to no avail.

Roy had spent the day, sullen, withdrawn, grumpy, and ill, tossing and turning through semi-conscious fevered nightmares, flinching away whenever Maes tried to shake him awake and muttering incoherently under his breath when left alone. When he'd managed to get Roy awake, a few mouthfuls of water had been the extent of what he'd been able to talk him into swallowing, and the glazed black eyes that had flickered deliriously past him had given him the worried impression that Roy had barely known who he was.

The fever got even worse that night, the nightmares worse than any others so far, and with Maes' own exhaustion cripplingly near the breaking point, he'd never be sure how he made it through at all.

But then his fever broke at last at dawn, not vanishing entirely but leaving him sweaty and worn but coherent, panting into his pillow as he shook from head to toe. Black eyes met his in a severe, seething sort of rage whenever Maes so much as made the floor creak, burning with fever and a half madness that turned his stomach with worry, his friend's whole body tensing with every stimulus and every muscle clenching with even the slightest provocation. "Shut up," he'd hiss, "Maes, I swear to god,"when he merely opened his mouth to ask about breakfast, _"shut UP!",_ then he'd cried out with desperate, unending frustration to muffle it into that same ragged pillow, and it had taken just a little bit more than Maes had had to not let that sound twist at his heart like a knife.

"You'll feel better soon," he promised, or tried to, even when his voice was weak and his hands unsteady. This was his fault as much as Roy's... he was the one who'd refused him his drugs, drugs he was abusing and had gotten illegally or not- if he could just give him just _one_ of what he'd been medicating himself with for so long...

But he couldn't. No matter how badly Roy was suffering now, as easy as it would be for Maes to give in and give up, if Maes gave today, his best friend would wind up having to endure it _all over again._ He had no choice but to sit there and watch him hurt, because the alternative was just for him to hurt worse.

"I'm sorry, I know it's awful..." he tried desperately again, reaching a trembling hand out to try and soothe his distress the only way he knew how. "You'll- you'll feel better soon, buddy, I promise..."

But his best friend only bucked and tensed again on the couch, arms clenching around the pillow hugged to his chest and damp black hair shifting as he shook his head over and over. Maes could see the muscles tense through his shirt, clinging to his back and arms with sticky, stale sweat, and he winced in sympathy, but not even a beat later flinched back when Roy twisted to glare wildly at him, panting through gritted teeth like a cornered bull. "I-if you say- I swear, Maes, if you tell me I had this coming, I s-swear to g-g-god-"

"Calm down," Maes murmured. How could Roy even think that of him? The hand proffering his third cold washcloth of the day slumped back down in resignation and Maes went with it, slipping back to sit down with his back against the couch and his head on his knees. "I wasn't going to." It was true. He wasn't. Some part of him _was_ still irritated with Roy for getting himself into this in the first place, yes, but he no longer cared enough to blame him for it. Roy had suffered enough.

Roy's fiery gaze remained on him, glazed with illness and exhaustion and misery. He panted and tensed, glaring through him as he clutched at his pillow, and for several moments there was nothing more than that: just Roy glaring, panting, sweating.

Then, with a gruff gasp of frustration, his friend snatched the cold rag from his hands, plopping it on his face, and jerked violently onto his other side so his back was to Maes. "Leave me alone," he grunted after several moments, curled up and shivering, then went silent.

Maes, of course, could not leave him alone.

Maes, of course, had no choice but to sit there through every last shiver, complaint, gasp, and repulsed, spat insult.

Maes was tired.

Maes would very willingly, very _gladly,_ take all of Roy's pain into himself, now not even just to spare his friend the suffering, but just to end this entire nightmare for them both.

Maes could not do any such thing, and had no choice but to remain here with Roy, and watch him suffer instead.

Maes was tired.

* * *

"I'm dying," Roy spluttered.

Maes, hovering somewhere along the border between a doze and exhausted wakefulness on the nearby armchair, flinched awake himself. He squinted through the dull headache and the glasses he'd never bothered to even pretend to take off, frowning at the shuddering, rousing figure splayed out messily on the couch.

"Good afternoon," he coughed teasingly, voice a tired, guttural sort of mumble past his still half asleep throat. "Sleep well?"

His friend was not, however, in the mood for teasing.

Roy shot him a frantic, livid sort of glare, black eyes almost glowing with some sort of sickly heat, trembling and panting again through clenched teeth. It seemed, no, he had not slept well at all. He dragged a shaking hand through his truly horrendous mess of hair, knocking the old washcloth free without heed, then was abruptly lurching upright, still gasping as he fumbled into a sloppy sitting position and stared between his knees with huge, lost eyes. "I- I f-feel like I'm dying, Maes."

Maes closed his eyes again, letting out a long, struggling breath through gritted teeth. So that was how today was going to be. "You're not dying, Roy. You're sick. You'll get better. You're not-"

"I _am._ I- I feel like-" Roy scrabbled upright even more, hands dragging over his flushed face, then clawing at his shirt, metal fingers catching in buttons and human ones snagging over flesh. "I feel- s-something's wrong, Maes, I-"

And Maes, still very, very tired, his last drops of patience evaporating already off into nothing just by the heat he could see coming off Roy's skin, sighed, shook his head, and silenced his long-suffering sigh as best he could. "Nothing is wrong. You have a fever of 103, probably should see a doctor, and are possibly going stir crazy, but you are not dying. Calm down, Roy." He let out another shuddering and tense breath, hands curling as he pushed his sore, aching, _exhausted_ body slowly up to his feet- but Roy was not anywhere near calmed.

"You d-don't- no, Maes, you don't understand! I-" He pressed a hand to his heart, eyes glazed and distant and horrified, then abruptly threw his head back as if snapped by puppet strings to gasp at the ceiling instead. He shook like the devil himself was after him and shivered so badly it nearly broke Maes' heart. How did he still not feel any _better?_ Hadn't he been through enough by now?!

"Something's not right!" Roy gasped at last, tearing his head back and forth, back and forth. "I can feel it, I _know_ it, I- I-"

Maes sighed heavily again, lowering himself down a little way's away from his friend to examine him with narrowed eyes. He certainly looked no worse off than before... Frowning, he moved a hand over gently take Roy's wrist to feel his pulse, wanting to avoid touching his neck if at all possible- but the colonel flinched away with a desperate, clenched teeth sort of groan, terror in his eyes and jerking back from his hand as if he'd been burned.

"D-don't _touch me,"_ he snarled, gasping again, only to abruptly buck backwards again, panting through clenched teeth. "It- it f-feels like-" He scratched over his scarred arms as if there was something crawling on them, tearing at his sleeves, pulling at his shirt, face torn and distraught and panicked, and Maes' sympathy nearly was snapped up dry in time with the exhausted, dying last gasp of whatever patience he had left.

"Roy, if you think something's wrong, then you are going to _have_ to let me touch you to try and see what. I'm sorry, but I'm not a dammed psychic."

Roy tensed again, staring at him through fluttering, frantic eyes, desperation flickering there that was so vivid it felt like a punch to the gut. He stared at him and gasped and shivered, those dark eyes fever-bright but unreadable, flushed face torn but livid.

Terrified.

Then, with an exhausted huff of defeat, his friend dropped his hands aggressively back down towards his lap and tilted his head forwards in Maes could only take as permission. He leaned back and shut his eyes, each breath tense and carefully measured, body perfectly stiff and still.

He looked miserable.

He looked _terrified._

Maes' heart fell a little, sympathy and something near pity making his stomach sink again, and this time, his mouth tasted bitter and unhappy as he leaned forward, and gingerly took Roy's wrist into his own hand.

"...it feels like it did yesterday," he murmured at last, settling it back down as soon as he could. He neglected to mention just how fast and uneven _yesterday_ was. Because it was bad, but if Roy hadn't felt like this yesterday, surely this could not be the cause... Steeling himself again, Maes then reached up to feel Roy's sweat-sticky forehead with the back of his hand. Again, he was the one to flinch while Roy remained perfectly still, and he pulled his hand back to himself almost as quickly, heart sinking with worry. "Your temperature feels the same, too. Roy..."

Dark eyes flickered frantically open to stare at him again, each breath scraping faster and shallower, now, short as if each was driven from him by a punch to the chest. "I'm not making it up! I don't feel- something's not _right._ I... _damn it!"_ He jerked up his scarred hands to stare at them before his face, watching them tremble violently, turning them around and around, then abruptly again was clawing up and down his arms, scratching like he was trying to scratch the skin straight off, and this time, Maes did not dare touch him to stop him.

The shaking... the shaking was worse. It was. Maes could no longer deny that. He didn't want to say anything to further frighten Roy, but- it _was_ worse, wasn't it? It looked worse then yesterday, and yesterday had been worse than the day before. Hell, if he thought about it, every part of him looked worse... like he was fraying apart at the seams, the chaos and panicked madness inside him tearing him apart from the inside out- and Maes was helpless to save him from it.

Because he was supposed to be getting better by now, wasn't he? It had been... almost a full week, now, since he'd started detoxing. Hadn't it? Or perhaps even longer; the days were starting to blend together in his muddled head. Maes had expected it to get worse before it got better, but not _this_ much worse, for _this long._ Should he actually be concerned?

Because Roy clearly _was_ concerned.

Maes shook himself a moment later, struggling to take in another calming breath and clear his head. He was letting Roy's panic and anxiety infect him, was all- and no surprise; it was hard to be in such close quarters with his steadily losing his mind best friend and not feel the strain of it. But, there was _nothing_ to be afraid of. He'd gotten Roy off those damn pills. So he was having a harder time kicking them than expected; that didn't mean anything was wrong. Roy was probably just freaking out because he'd felt so bad for so many days, was all.

And while Maes might've preferred to maybe get a second opinion on that, it wasn't as if he really had a choice, was it? Roy wasn't even capable of facing Hawkeye. In fact, given how much worse he seemed now than earlier in the week, Maes would hazard a guess he was even less able to bear the presence of someone else than he had been just a few days before. And even if Roy had been willing to consider it, there was still no way for them to _get_ somebody here. Not with Roy's phone still a hopelessly charred piece of trash...

"You'll be fine, buddy," Maes finally said, facing him with a lot more confidence than he truly felt and forcing a hopefully comforting smile stronger than he could've believed in just minutes before. "I know it doesn't feel like it now, but-"

 _"No!_ You d-don't- you don't _get it!"_ The colonel shoved back from him again, face torn and distraught, heaving in frantic swallows of air and shaking his flushed face back and forth, over and over, panic gleaming in his eyes like a live wire. "Y-you-" he spat again, panting.

Then he threw himself back down to the couch without another word.

Threw himself to land just barely a few inches away from Maes, his thin back curled not even a hair's breadth away from his hand, and his head so close to his knee it might as well have been resting on it.

A slow, stricken moment of surprise expanded throughout the room. Maes held himself completely and utterly still, not daring to move, but- Roy just remained there half in his lap, curled up into his tight little ball to hug himself and gasp into the cocoon created by his knees, trembling so hard it was as if he was vibrating from the inside out.

It was as close to an invitation for physical comfort as Maes could figure. In the same day as Roy flinching away when Maes so much as tried to feel his temperature, it was nearly too bewildering to fathom, but there he was, shivering and panting his lap, in so much pain and torment Maes just couldn't _stand it._ He was still incredibly wary of touching Roy now and making things worse, but- hell, he'd thrown himself down there not an inch away... and if it'd help him at all...

He was biting his lip when he first extended his hand, venturing it forward as gently and carefully as he could. He rested it softly down on Roy's shaking shoulder, the lightest gesture he could make it at first, but when his friend did not protest he carefully eased his arm down a little more to coax him closer to his lap, trying to impart on him some sort of sense of security no matter how frail.

"You'll be all right, Roy," he promised gently, running a hand up and down his shaking arm. It felt too thin, too hot, too nervous, too upset. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Maes closed his eyes, fighting for some illusion of calm that had long since no longer existed and willing a sense of strength into his voice that had been days since he'd felt for himself. "You'll be all right. I know you don't feel it right now but this is only temporary. It'll pass, you'll see." One hand still on his arm, he gingerly rested the other against his head, running a thumb gently through his sweat-soaked, messy hair. "Shh..." he crooned weakly, voice lost beneath another desperate, muffled sob. "I'll take care of you..."

But Roy shuddered harder in his lap; if the contact calmed him it wasn't at all apparent from the violent tremors that had taken him from head to toe, and he still clutched at himself so tightly his knuckles were burned white. Metal fingers scrabbled, alternately tearing into his own sleeves before digging into Maes instead, squeezing in time with each frantic gasp, head jerking in rhythm, breaths an arrhythmic pattern of strangled gasps and whimpers that scared the hell out of him. This- this wasn't normal- this _couldn't_ be normal-

But what was he to _do?_ Roy would never forgive him if he called a doctor; moreover, there was still no way for him to _do_ that without leaving the apartment, and as far as Maes was concerned, nothing short of the apocalypse was dragging him away from Roy now. Even his now dreadfully questionable health aside, there were still pills hidden somewhere in this apartment and Maes did not trust Roy any further than he could throw him to not take them. Even _if_ Roy was getting sicker than he could responsibly handle, there was nothing he could do about it.

If he was still this bad off when Hawkeye next visited, then he would ask for her to send for Knox or someone like him, Roy's protests be dammed. That was just that. And Hawkeye's next visit was scheduled for that evening... surely that was enough. Even _if_ something was wrong with him, Roy could last at least that long, couldn't he?

He didn't dare ask. He already knew what Roy's answer would be.

As much as Roy might be convinced was wrong _now,_ he knew his tune would change very quickly if he realized that something being wrong meant he was going to have to let someone else sit here with him besides Maes. A stranger. Someone to poke and prod him, shine a light in his eyes and feel his face and order him about this way and that.

If Roy realized that was the alternative, Roy might very well take back every word he'd said today and sit up with a smile on his flushed, burning face, swearing to him in a voice that still shook and cracked from eyes that were still glazed with a terrified panic that he was right as rain. Roy would throw out every line in the book to try and convince Maes he was okay.

The look of sheer betrayal and anguish he could already see on Roy's face, when he'd realized Maes had not listened to him and called over help him anyway, was more than enough for Maes to keep his mouth shut.

Roy had enough to worry about as it was.

The uneasy, frightening sort of silence dragged on. Roy twitched and shivered, scratching at himself every so often, legs tensing like he needed to run and breaths hitching every periodic jerk that rocked him forward in his lap. Maes' worried hand stayed on his shoulder, feeling the unsteady heart rate pound away under his palm, and in his own exhaustion, kept himself silent.

He just wanted everything to just be okay. That was all that he wanted. Just to turn the clock forward a few days, a week, however long it'd took; fast forward through all of this and Roy's unimaginable suffering until it was _over_ and Roy had finally healed and this was all behind them. So many other problems would still be there but at least this would be over. At least he finally would've clawed his way out of withdrawal and survived whole to the other side and this terrible suffering would've finally _stopped._

But with each passing day that it wasn't okay, with each passing day that Roy just got _worse,_ Maes felt himself slipping closer and closer to a breaking point.

After a time, long past when Maes had swayed himself into a half-upright, half-doze, the muttering started.

It was a quiet whisper under his breath, muted and muffled, a ceaseless ramble that was just a bit too low for Maes to make out. There were a few words here and there; a harried _get off, get off me,_ a _stop touching me_ in time with another desperate scratch up and down his arms, fingernails leaving red lines along the scars while the metal fingers left bruises, then a gasp, then _I'm sorry- I'm sorry-_

"Roy?" Maes called gently, unease infecting him like a poison. He leaned over a little, trying not to jostle his position but get a better look at him, wanting to just get a glimpse if he was awake or not. "Roy...?"

_"...d-don't call me that... M...Master..."_

...Oh.

Not awake, then.

"S- sorry, buddy," he murmured, and very quickly moved his hand away from his head.

It faintly reminded him of the earliest days after Roy's rescue. So many months ago, now, and a dark time he did not much like to revisit, but with Roy incoherent and gasping in his lap he remembered it now. Of course it wasn't completely comparable... there had been more wrong with Roy then than just physical injury or illness.

He remembered the nightmares, though.

The fever prickling behind his eyes, flushing his face red and his hands warm from the dozens of open wounds that scattered his back and the filth he'd been kept in for months. The incoherent mutters when asleep and not so much more coherent ones when awake, the flinching away from being touched, the despair and terror.

It was all too familiar to stand, and Maes, deep in his own exhaustion, his own patience sucked away after one too many sleepless nights and Roy's intractable state, wasn't sure how much longer he could work through it for.

Roy kept muttering. The minutes slipped by, ticking into hours, and Maes let himself doze back against the couch, desperately seeking refuge under the flimsy shadows of dreams. Even his mind's own semi-conscious, uneasy travails were preferable to the slumped figure of his best friend in his lap.

The minutes ticked by.

_"...Melissa... M-Melissa-!..."_

Roy jerked again. Harder than before; at least, hard enough to drag Maes out of yet another exhausted daze. He fumbled halfway upright, licking his dry lips and cursing himself yet again for falling asleep, trying to grasp for coherence or consciousness, something solid to hang onto, but his mind was so clouded and his body so weighed down he could barely function. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, gaze stumbling over the array-scarred walls in a fruitless search for a clock, then leaned back down a little over Roy, narrowing his eyes.

Still the same as before.

In fact, Maes worried that he'd even gotten a little bit worse.

Maes closed his eyes for a moment, fighting in a shuddering breath, then squeezed Roy's shoulder a little tighter, beginning the long and arduous process of shifting him off his lap so he could move. Roy tensed and kicked like a dog in his sleep, groaning, muttering faster, and it took nearly more effort than Maes had to give to let it happen as he settled Roy back down, now kneeling in front of the couch on sore legs and again trying to shake his best friend awake. "Buddy," he called, soft but insistent. _"Buddy."_

Roy's half-lidded eyes flickered once, like a child caught in a nightmare. He did not answer him.

Uneasy before and uneasier now, Maes tried again, giving his shoulder another shake. "Buddy, it's late. Hawkeye should get here soon... maybe an hour? I'm sure you're not hungry, but you need to drink something. I'm going to get us both some water. Okay?"

Roy tensed a little again, shoulder tense until Maes' hand. The skin prickled still with an aura of heat, and his hair and shirt were damp, but he was sweating less than before, Maes realized... which, given the fever that was still only seeming to climb, was yet another sign for worry. He wasn't getting better at all. He was just dehydrated now, on top of everything else.

Maes gritted his teeth. He stared harder at Roy, trying to battle his own slowly rising sense of panic.

This was not good. Be dammed what Roy would say about it, this was not good, and it was not getting any better.

Breathing hard through clenched teeth, Maes pushed himself to his feet and turned away, dragging himself as quickly as he could to Roy's kitchen. He poured a glass of lukewarm tap water for himself, swallowing it in silence and taking what little solace he could from the peace just one moment to himself had granted, trying not to taste the bitter worry or how the water felt like sand in his throat. He splashed his face, glaring at the droplets that clung to his glasses, rubbed his eyes- and then it was over, and he again had to turn back to face the music.

"Buddy," he commanded, kneeling down in front of Roy once again. He pushed the glass closer to his face, an insistent command that was not to be ignored. "Buddy. You have to drink this. ... _Now."_

His best friend's eyes remained glazed and half-lidded, flickering on and through him and far away. No part of his flushed, distressed, despairing face showed even the faintest glimmer of understanding.

Maes' jaw tensed, and for a moment, the worry that tried to claim him nearly did bowl him straight over, shoving him downwards in one fell swoop.

All right, then.

"Well if this is how you want it, my friend." Glowering, Maes set the glass right down on the floor to instead advance on Roy, one hand gripping him by the arm and the other moving to his shoulder, manipulating him upright like a lifeless doll. "Come on, you- ah. _Come on."_

It took him all but wrestling to get the colonel on his feet, then a hard, iron grip from behind to keep him there. He marched Roy through the apartment while his friend swayed and groaned like a drunken idiot, head lolling on his shoulders and breaths an unsteady, uneven, high-pitched rampage. He was muttering again under his breath, faster now, too soft for any words to be made out as he reeled on probably numb feet, but Maes was just too exhausted _(too scared)_ to slow down.

"I told you to wake up," he muttered dispassionately, but underneath his steely facade unable to help giving his arm another worried squeeze, "I _told you so..."_

With barely a regret left to spare, he settled Roy limply down on the floor of his shower. He nudged his face a little, palming one burning hot cheek with one hand as he tried to shake him awake one last time.

Still, nothing more than an incoherent mutter.

So Maes pulled back with one long, gruff sigh, made sure the faucet was set to solid ice cold- and turned the spray on.

The brutal, unforgiving burst of cold was severe enough to make even Maes flinch back. He hissed through gritted teeth, hugging himself back from the angry spray and twitching back, already squinting as fine, stray droplets misted on his glasses and splattered his face. Damn it that was cold; _damn it_ now he was wide awake and nearly shivering, yanked away as hard as he could make it, chilled down to his core from just the proximity, but this wasn't about him, this was about Roy, and-

And...

Roy was still not moving.

Maes had flinched back from just being on the periphery of the sudden spray, shrinking away and shivering hard and cursing. But Roy... Roy, who sat curled up underneath the full stinging weight of it... made no move at all to pull away.

In fact, he barely even reacted to it at all.

He just curled up there, dark head down and now soaked under the freezing deluge, pajamas sodden and dripping, unmoving and now silent. His glazed eyes didn't even once flicker up to Maes.

"...Buddy?" Anxiety spiking again in his gut, Maes shot a hand out to temporarily cut off the water, silencing the rush of water to kneel down near him again. He nudged his face again, palming his cheek with one trembling hand even as his voice shook from the newly panicked lump in his throat. "Buddy? Can you hear me?"

Roy did not even _look_ at him.

This time, the anxiety in his stomach spiraled straight up into alarm, and his heart clenched so desperately he nearly moaned with the blow of it.

He could not pretend anymore.

This was _bad._

Roy was not waking up, and was now utterly unresponsive. He could hear his ragged breaths even from here, but the heat still prickled on his skin and his unfocused, dazed eyes were not lifting up from his feet, and the equivalent of upending a bucket's worth of ice water on his head had not changed anything in the slightest. He did not know what was wrong, but _something_ was, and Maes simply no longer had the option to pretend it wasn't for any longer.

He needed help, and soon.

He pulled back, his heart pounding and mind racing, a panic tearing through him that left his mouth dry and his hands shaking with something near terror. This wasn't good. Something was really, really wrong with Roy and if this went on, it was not going to get better. He had to fix this. He didn't want to take Roy to a hospital, not yet, that was crossing too many lines that he couldn't take back, but there had to be something-

"Hawkeye," he breathed, covering his mouth with a trembling hand. _Hawkeye!_ Yes- Hawkeye was already set to come here tonight! If he could just get another set of eyes, eyes not as exhausted as his own, at least another set of hands so he didn't feel so dreadfully outmatched- he'd just have to call her, ask her to come over now instead of later, and he knew she'd come, she'd go to the ends of the earth for Roy-

Nodding frantically, Maes brushed his hands off and shoved himself upright, already starting to push himself around to find with his mind only intent on Riza Hawkeye only to stumble into a stomach-wrenching roadblock not even a second later. The phone. Goddammit, the _phone._ There was no phone in Roy's apartment, because the fucker had _blown it up,_ and without the phone- he couldn't call Hawkeye from here. He couldn't call anyone at all. _Damn, damn..._

He'd have to use the pay phone down on the street, he realized feverishly. Surely just a few minutes away, but...

His heart in his throat, Maes turned back to look at Roy.

Trembling and curled up still underneath the downpour, head dropped and dripping, his fingers twitching and senseless against the spray. Unaware, nearly incoherent, and solidly unwell.

He could not, in good conscience, leave Roy alone for that length of time. There was no question about it. It was no longer just the horrible worry of his friend grasping a moment of lucidity and choking down every pill he had left stashed in this damn apartment; he could hurt himself. And not even on purpose. Just the few minutes for Maes to rush off downstairs to phone for help could be enough for him to come back up here and find Roy passed out in a puddle of his own blood.

He couldn't leave Roy to his own devices, as unconscious and senseless as he was, he just couldn't do that, but there was no question about it any more. He _needed_ to phone for help this instant, and there was no way around it. He had to do it and he had to do it now.

"Damn it," Maes fretted under his breath, "I- _damn it!"_ If he just had some way to keep Roy where he was- restrain him for _just_ a few minutes while Maes was gone, that was all he needed, just for a meager few minutes so he could take care of him-

Maes, midway through another desperate pace around the bathroom, stopped.

All he had to do was restrain Roy.

With an increasing sense of dread, now, he remembered how he'd ended up at Roy's place in the first place. He had stumbled here after an all night long manhunt, walking in straight off the job, still in uniform, gun still settled in its holster... and handcuffs still clipped to his belt. He'd cast them off at some point, changing into his own clothes that Gracia had given to Hawkeye to bring over, but they were still _here,_ and...

And he could handcuff Roy.

Maes' heart clenched, then sunk straight down into the pit of his stomach with an awful, anguished wave of guilt.

He could... no. _No._ He couldn't- Maes stared down at Roy, dragging himself a trembling step back with another desperate shake of his head in horrified denial. No, no... he would not do such a thing. Not after what Roy had already been through! It wasn't fair, wasn't right! He wouldn't do that to Roy, not when he could still see those faint scars laced around his wrists for how long he'd been left restrained before, not when he'd _been there_ and _seen_ the crusted, bleeding sores, not when he'd seen his best friend so terrified of being touched there they almost hadn't managed to free him at all- no, no, _no no no..._

But, in the same heartbeat as that vicious denial, he knew that he had no other choice.

It was for Roy's health. It was for Roy's wellbeing. It was for only a few minutes, and Maes would let him go the very moment that he could. It was fine, Roy probably wouldn't even notice, Roy probably wouldn't even _wake up_ in the desperate few minutes in which Maes would be gone to realize what had been done to him. It was, ultimately, nothing worse than what Maes had _already_ done- because he'd restrained Roy before, he'd pinned his arms and held him down when he was screaming and crying and trying to hurt himself in some desperate fit of hysteria...

But it was different, wasn't it?! It was one thing to hold Roy down, keep him safe from a very immediate threat but ready to let him go at the slightest sign that he could handle it, but _this,_ just _abandoning him_ bound and helpless and alone-

He couldn't do that to him. Maes shook his head with a small, desperate whimper, hand still pressed to his mouth that did nothing at all to muffle his sorrow. He couldn't even bear the thought of it. He'd seen Roy suffer too much to be the cause of it anymore.

And it still didn't matter. It was different, and it didn't matter.

This was about Roy's _life._

Maes stared down to his best friend again. Something horrible and guiltridden swelled in his throat, taking his breath away, so much sheer hurt amassing whose only release was a tiny, bit back little cry.

His best friend's life.

Maes swallowed tightly.

Something deep within him hardened.

* * *

A few heartbroken minutes later, Maes again knelt down outside the shower, sitting down beside the slumped form of his friend. He left the stinging spray on, hoping the cold would at least do _something_ for the continued burning temperature, and gently started to situate Roy with as much tenderness as he could. One arm remained looped loosely around his curled up knees, head lolling dazedly against his shoulder with half-lidded, miserable eyes that Maes could not bear to meet.

His other arm, held up limply by Maes, hung next to the open, waiting handcuff, already there to bind him to the nearby towel rod. His thin, almost delicately scarred wrist, metal fingers, and the ugly array marks along his arm, all bared on display.

He looked helpless. He looked so _hurt._ He looked abandoned. He looked half-dead.

Maes closed his eyes with a deep, shuddering breath. He whispered a silent apology, words that would never reach Roy and never even come close to healing him.

Then, he faced his best friend again.

"I'm sorry, Roy," he said again, this time, almost tearfully. Then he lifted his arm up, and securely clicked the cuff shut tight around his wrist.

Roy was still and quiet. The icy deluge poured down around them, slicking Maes' hair and fogging his glasses, splattering Roy's washed out face and sunken eyes. The colonel did not look at him, did not react at being cuffed- still did not even shiver, under the pounding of the water.

For all intents and purposes, he remained utterly dead to the world.

And then, horribly: he stiffened

 _"...Master..."_ he mumbled, a ragged, guttural sort of whisper. _"M...Mas... d-don't... make me... I w-won't... do it."_ He tensed a little, shivering hard under the water, and gave one sluggish, half-hearted sort of tug on his bound arm, pulling it until the chain jerked taut. _"D... d... **don't..."**_

Maes' heart cracked down in two all over again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, but if it was to any ears but his own, he'd never know. "I'm sorry, Roy." He waited for a moment, anguish flooding through his chest, but there was simply nothing to be done. "I'm s-sorry... I promise, it's just for a few minutes, buddy. Just a few minutes and then I'll let you go. You're safe here. Nobody's going to hurt you, it's just me and you and I _promise,_ it'll be over soon. Just hang in there for me for as long as you can, Roy, and I _promise_ you'll get through this. You'll be okay. You can do this."

His best friend, however, was blind and deaf to his words. His best friend twitched and jerked at the chain again, a tiny, miserable cry stumbling past his throat as his fevered eyes roved without sight or sanity.

Tears burned in Maes' eyes again.

And it didn't matter, because he was all out of time.

So Maes took in a deep, trembling breath, shivering in misery from head to toe. He leaned forward on desperate impulse, pulling his best friend closer to him to press a heartbroken kiss to his forehead, then shoved himself right back upright and turned his back without another word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And because I actually wrote this and the next scene as a set... next chapter should go up within the next few minutes :)


	14. Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, did you read the chapter before this? I posted that just a few minutes ago! Make sure you read that first!!!

He saw fire, and heard screams.

He tasted ash, and smelled burning flesh.

He saw blood, and heard screams.

He tasted sex, and smelled heartbreak.

He couldn't move. Why couldn't he move? He couldn't move. His hands were bound again. He could tug and tug and tug and he still couldn't move. He could hear the screams ring in his ears and his heart pound until it strangled itself with the strain and the world rush and crumble and burn all around him, but _he couldn't move._

He heard laughter this time, high-pitched, broken hysterical laughter that caught in his chest and was so violent it burned. He saw Archer's face flicker around, obscured by smoke and ash but it was still his _face,_ Archer's face and Master's shadow and he laughed and laughed and laughed until he cried and he cried until he couldn't breathe and then he laughed again.

 _You can save yourself,_ he heard, an insidious whisper like a snake in his mind. _You're not helpless anymore. You put it on you so you couldn't be trapped again. You can save yourself. You have to save yourself._

_(because no one's coming for a monster like you)_

He laughed again, sobbing into the one arm he could move to hide his smile in his elbow. He laughed and shivered and threw his head back and cried out, and he felt the array marked into his very soul _burn._

He heard other things, too.

_you don't deserve to save yourself, not after what you did, you deserve to die, to die, to DIE_

_murderer rapist killer monster_

_the world's better off with you gone, with you dead, with you in hell, before you were ever born_

_come back to us 5572, let us take you back, you deserve nothing more, come back to us because you don't deserve saving and we'll_ _**never let you go** _

_(you never left)_

_murderer rapist killer monster_

He heard-

"Why, Roy?"

He heard-

"It hurts," he moaned, "it _hurts;_ can I stop?" His array burned and his skin burned and he could taste it melting, hot like burnt ash, "can I stop-?"

_you don't deserve to stop you deserve this YOU DESERVE THIS_

"Why, Roy?"

His array burned and burned and burned until he felt the tension in his bound wrist _pop._ His arm kept burning, and he threw his head back to howl out, spitting out one long feral snarl of a laugh.

_burn, burn, burn like you deserve, burn like the monster you are_

He pulled his newly freed arm to stare at it. Spots of red dotted him now like a child's finger painting, scars of broken arrays scattered all over and now smeared with smoking scarlet spots of burned skin, and from his wrist swung a broken silver chain, gleaming blindingly bright. From his wrist was locked a tight silver ring, gleaming, damming. A leash and collar that he felt tightening around his neck as a binding noose, and a desperate laugh grew in his heart again.

He would never get free.

He would never, ever, _ever_ get free.

_And it's what you deserve._

'Why won't you look at me, Roy?"

He stared absently at his hands again. His broken, murdering, scarred, burned, chained hands. The shadows ate away at the corners of his vision, shadows that flickered from flames and flames that wavered from screams, and the horror that clutched at him was so potent he did not dare look away. "...I can't," he choked. "I- I can't."

He was too weak.

He was too broken.

He was too _pathetic._

"Why, Roy?"  
_"Limadha a, Roy?"_

Ishvalan, he recognized distantly. It was Ishvalan, and he nearly choked again.

_Why?_

_**Why?** _

"I'm sorry," he sobbed. _"I'm sorry, Melissa,"_ and he was sorry, sorry for every wrong in the world, for every snap of his fingers, for every breath he'd ever took, for existing, for having the audacity to care, to apologize, to cry, the shame, to hide, to cower, to run, for loving, for hating, for standing, for being, for burning, for bleeding, for seeing her cry, for letting her cry, for the gun to his head, for the baby inside her, for his life, for his birth, for the blood drawn from his neck but the grave he still ran from, for everything he'd ever done and not done and thought and seen and heard and every last hurt that had ever existed in this godforsaken world and he was _**so god damn sorry-**_

But he could not hide any more.

He looked up, and through his bloody face and slicked hair and murdering eyes, he saw.

It was not the Melissa he'd met, fierce-eyed and angry and pregnant, but the pitiful creature he remembered, thin and bruised and shivering with a face slick with tears, and in her arms was a shroud that he did not dare to see. "Melissa," he said, "Melissa," but she withdrew and he was a broken dog on a leash with no choice but to follow.

"Why?"

"I- I'm s-sorry-"

And then suddenly, she was there, chasing after him with a finger that burned like a white hot blade, tracing into him like a brand. He threw his head back and clenched his teeth and fought back a scream, and Melissa cried. "Why?" she pressed, "Why? Why?" and he could not answer her.

Her touch found the array carved into him and she traced it, every line, every arc, every symbol, and it _hurt._ But it was a hurt that he had earned, every last bit of it, and the choked sob in his throat was nothing, did not compare, to the hurt he'd put this woman through. The hurt he'd put the _world_ through.

_Why, why, WHY_

"Why do you get this, Roy? Why do you have this but you left me with nothing?"

He doubled over, gasping and sick at heart and dying. His shirt suddenly felt as if it was suffocating him and he scrabbled, tearing it apart, yanking it back away to bare his scars and his guilty burning skin and his array, his every sin and every crime, but this wasn't enough for the hand splayed across his carven array before him.

"Why do you get to be safe?" she pressed, tracing it again, and he _sobbed._ "Why do you get to move on when you robbed even that much from me? Why? _Why? Why do you have this and I have nothing?!"_

He choked and she was right. She was right. He didn't deserve the protection of his fire etched into his very skin, haunting his every step wherever he should go; he didn't deserve even that shadow of peace when he'd stolen it from so many others, and when Melissa looked to him with blood and tears in her eyes, he knew what she wanted.

She was right.

She was right, and _he_ had no right to deny her.

She withdrew, a taunting and tempting Siren, and he stumbled after her like a drunken sailor dragged by his leash, step after step. There was fire and screaming and _noise,_ and he knew now, he knew they weren't alone, he knew there was someone else and his mind shouted Archer, his mind sobbed Ishval, his entire being throbbed with _danger,_ so he followed. There was a knife. He knew, he'd hidden it because he could never be safe again without a weapon within arm's reach with every step, there was a knife, and he took it and laughed and sobbed and followed his keeper into shadow.

_"Why, Roy?"_

"I d-don't- don't _know,_ " he sobbed.

_**"Why?"** _

She stood there now, the mother of his child, the victim of his crimes, wet tears trailing down her cheeks and burning like fire, whispering smoke into the air, and she stared to him as accusing as a god and he could not answer back. She stared to him and cried and clutched the bundle in her arms, and now he could no longer turn away.

It was a baby. A shadowy, hidden, tiny, real-live human baby.

He could just glimpse dark brown skin and red eyes.

Something deep inside him broke.

_"I'm sorry- I'm sorry-"_

"Why, Roy?"

_"I'm so sorry-"_

He'd done this, He deserved this. He deserved the chains around his wrist, the brand on his neck, the agony that stabbed through him and crawled under his skin and nested inside him and tore him apart from the inside out. He'd destroyed her and he'd created that child and he _deserved_ this-

And she was right.

He didn't deserve his array.

He didn't deserve the safety and protection it offered him.

After what he'd done, he deserved no protection from anything at all.

"Why, Roy?"she asked him again, and she was crying again, silently and in despair, holding their child and crying- and he knew what she wanted him to do.

And this time, he wanted to do it, too.

_You don't deserve it-_

_die, die, DIE-_

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and the knife was in his hand again. He stared at it. He stared at the carved array that haunted his every dream and thought, burning with malice and justice and revenge, his flames the only thing he had in between him and death for so very many months-

_You don't deserve it._

_"Why, Roy?"_

_"Why, Roy?"_

_**"Why, Roy?!"** _

He looked up at her, staring into her devastated eyes, and he broke.

 _"I'm sorry!"_ he screamed, and plunged the knife straight through the very heart of his array.

* * *

(artist: [roymaes](http://roymaes.tumblr.com/))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up in three days; see you Saturday! >:D


	15. Didn't Have to Be This Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos/comments! One more chapter, folks!

When Riza arrived at the hospital, distressed and in disarray after arriving to her superior's deserted apartment, the unease she had lived with for days escalating and growing up into a nervous, anxious knot, right in the pit of her stomach, she was not sure what to expect.

She did know, however, walking neatly down the hallway at a disciplined, measured place, that the scene set in the waiting room just up ahead was not one that she had been ready for.

The lieutenant colonel sat slumped in one of the plastic, uncomfortable chairs, shoulders hunched over and head down, elbows on his knees while his wife stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders and speaking to him softly. At first she could not see much of him beyond the wrinkles in his clothes and tangles in his messy hair, suggesting a long and sleepless night- or four, perhaps...

But then, she drew closer.

Then, she could better see his shaking hands, and why they were held so awkwardly out before him.

They were covered in dried blood.

Riza reeled to an immediate stop, her stomach dropping and a wave of cold horror washing over like ice.

Oh.

Oh, _no._

In an instant, everything she'd been most afraid of came true.

In an instant, she suddenly did not want to walk forward, and hear Hughes' account of just what exactly had gone wrong.

_Roy..._

_What have you done?_

Gracia looked up distractedly in the silence of the hospital waiting room, lifting a hand to rub her eyes, but in the motion their eyes met, and she started in surprise. She opened her mouth, starting to say something only to glance back to her husband with troubled, worried eyes, and at the sight of him, her face fell. Her husband, who still hadn't even noticed she was here. Who still had not even looked up from his bloodstained hands.

Riza's stomach dropped again.

With a quiet gesture for her to wait for a moment, Gracia leaned back down and said something again to her husband, rubbing his shoulder. Whatever she was saying, Riza wasn't sure, but when the investigator finally answered her with an absentminded sort of distracted nod, it seemed to be enough for her, because she quickly turned back and moved to meet her back right there in the middle of the hallway.

"He's going to be okay," was the first thing she said, a swift, immediate assurance, and with it she started to reach out as if to gently touch her hand only to then think better of it, and wrapped it back around her sleeve instead. "They're stitching him up right now. There were some burns and he's pretty sick, as well, so it's going to be a little while before you can see him, but he's going to be all right."

Riza had not been aware that she was holding her breath until that assurance finally came.

Relief washed over her in a warm wave, riding in and out on a great, trembling wave, and for a heartbeat so potent and encompassing her knees went weak. "I... I see." She rubbed at her eyes, swallowing hard to try and compose herself, to try and fight back the emotion tightening her throat into silence. "I- thank you. _Thank you,_ Mrs. Hughes. So much." Her words caught again and she stared back at her; still, by the lightheaded, almost dizzy feeling in her head and the nervous swoop in her stomach, feeling as if she was in free-fall, and did not know what awaited for her down below. As if this free-fall had lasted for days, ever since they'd met Melissa, and they were all still falling, but to what finish line, she did not know. "But..."

Gracia, thankfully, seemed to understand all it was that she could not say. With a gentle shake of her head, she actually reached out to touch her elbow then, guiding the both of them out of the middle of the hallway with those same troubled, hooded eyes. "Maes won't... say. He said he wanted to wait to tell you, but I- I think something's wrong with him, Lieutenant. I don't think he's slept or eaten. He _needs_ to calm down, I'd have sent him home but I didn't think he'd even be able to take care of Elicia right now, he's- I've never seen him like this before." She broke off for a moment, lower lip trembling. "I'd have taken him home myself already, but... neither of us can just leave Roy here alone."

It took Riza, as overstrained and stressed as she was, a few moments to hear what was being said to her. She nodded slowly, smoothing a hand down her uniform, trying to calm herself down. "We'll wait together until we hear something about the colonel," she decided quickly, firm and without a doubt. "I'm sure he won't be willing to leave before that, but then perhaps you and I can convince him to go home with you, at least to sleep for a bit. I'll stay here with Mustang."

He was her superior.

He was _her_ duty- no matter how much he fought that and refused to accept it or not.

She wasn't going to let him try to fight her efforts to keep him safe any longer.

But, no matter how sure of herself she was, when she looked back to Gracia, the Hughes matriarch clearly did not share her feelings.

"I don't know..." she fretted anxiously, biting back down on her lip. "I'm worried it might be a little while-"

But at that moment, the investigator looked up at last, glancing over his shoulder with heavy, reddened eyes as if in search for his wife, but they locked onto her instead and his face transformed in an instant, exhausted to alive, broken to _relieved._ "Hawkeye!" he cried, pushing himself up and cutting Gracia off all at once, striding for her without pause- and sending Riza's stomach straight back down.

The blood wasn't just on his hands.

Not even _close._

There was blood all over him. Dried and dark, splattered messily all across his shirt and pants and there was just- _so much._ It was as if someone had died in his arms, bled to death and the evidence was soaked through him, his clothes sodden and ruined- and even worse, she raked her eyes up and down him, prying for every last sign she could see, but there was not so much as a hint of injury on him.

It was all the colonel's.

Every last drop was Roy's.

_Oh... my god..._

Hughes slowed as he approached her, blinking uncertainly at what she could only imagine was the look on her face. "What-?" he started, slowing, following her gaze for himself.

Then, his own face fell.

With a gutwrenching sense of horror, Riza now understood _exactly_ why he'd looked so crushed and defeated, when she'd walked up to them in the waiting room.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he ventured at last, trying for a nervous smile. It failed, and rather spectacularly at that. "I got to him right away and called an ambulance just a minute after. I- I know there's a lot... but..."

His smile fell on the heels of a nervous sort of laughter, and a moment later, his face crumpled right after it, his reddened and sore eyes falling- and with it, Riza's hopes were dashed right against the rocks, too.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, _no._

"Did he hurt himself again?" She couldn't help herself; as much as she hated it the question had to be said, with all of the blood and Hughes looking like _that_ it was unavoidable, and at his averted eyes and even grimmer stare she pressed forward again, anxiety clenching around her heart and twisting her stomach into one huge, miserable knot. No, no, no. He _couldn't_ do this to her; to them. He just _couldn't-_ not again. "Did he, sir?"

"Yes, I- I think? No? I... I don't know- it's complicated, I-..." He turned away for a moment, starting to rub a trembling hand over his face- then abruptly flinched at the sight of the blood. His already pale skin faded to almost grey, and for an instant, he looked like he was about to throw up.

Now, just what the hell did _that_ mean? He'd hurt himself, but hadn't?

With a great, heavy exertion of effort, Riza clamped down on her own desperate curiosity. An angry, rapid-fire interrogation would not drag the answers out of him, no matter how desperately she wanted to give it. Nor would giving into her reflex to berate him, because damn it, he had promised her that he would keep him _safe,_ she had entrusted her responsibility to him and now they stood in a goddamn hospital waiting room and Roy was _bleeding-_

But none of those things, she knew, would help her take care of him _now._

Only one thing would.

So she bit her tongue, she held her silence, and did the only thing that she could do: wait for him to explain.

It took another few moments, but at last, Hughes moved back to his previous seat, sitting down again but this time turned slightly to face them both. His wife moved quickly to his side while Riza found herself hard-pressed to keep her pace steady, cautiously moving to join him as he looked up at her and spoke, voice low and hesitant, emotion wavering behind every syllable. "I've not been exactly honest with either of you. I told you he was sick, and he- well, he _was-_ but he didn't want for me to tell you why and I couldn't betray his confidence like that, not when he was still pulling through." He broke off, visage twisting again- and Riza found herself only even more confused than before.

Pulling through?

Pulling through _what?_

Hughes remained quiet for another dreadful few moments. Indecision and guilt continued to weigh in his eyes, eyes that could barely even look at her or his wife, face still pale and the horror of whatever it was he'd seen playing out so vividly across his face Riza almost didn't want to know. He fidgeted again, taking in a slow, deep breath.

Then, his gaze dropped down to the blood again.

With that, it seemed, something at last came over him. Whatever strength or change of heart that he needed, to convince himself that this was the right thing to do. Because the guilt remained- oh, the guilt remained- but the broken, guilt-infested indecision that had lurked so miserably behind it, vanished.

And then, he looked her in the eyes, and told her.

Told her everything.

Once again, while Riza had come down here knowing she had no idea what to expect, and ready to hear it all- just like the blood on Hughes' hands, this story completely bowled her over and left her blinking with shock, and stunned in complete silence.

Her superior- _her_ Colonel Mustang- had been abusing _drugs._

She could not believe it.

She did not believe it.

She sat there, and she could not believe it, but even as Hughes spoke, she knew she had no reason as to _why._ She knew his history with alcohol, she'd known without Hughes even having to tell her he'd tried repeating it again months ago, and this- this was not that much different, was it? A desperate, unhealthy attempt at self-medication that started to slide into addiction. It was the same thing, wasn't it? And she'd known something was wrong with him for a while now... the strange mood swings, the panicky highs he could reach coupled with the dazed- _medicated,_ she understood now, _drugged_ \- lows...

It was so similar to his history with drinking and somehow so much worse, almost too much worse for her to reconcile it with her image of her superior at all, but there wasn't time to be spent on her struggling, because Hughes was still talking, and he needed her- _Roy_ needed her- to listen.

"I don't-" he was saying, shaking his head, staring down between his knees again- "I don't know what happened... he _did_ hurt himself, that's why we're here, but I don't think it's like it sounds. He was sick all day and was getting worse, that was when I called you, Lieutenant, but then when I went back to his apartment something was... something was _wrong_ with him. I think the way I left him scared him, the, um, the h-" He stopped abruptly, eyes widening, complexion fading even paler, then abruptly fought on with another violent shudder. "I think he got scared, and... I don't know, exactly, but when I got back up there- it was like he didn't even recognize me at all. He was talking to people who weren't even there and looking right through me, he was a _mess,_ he wasn't making sense and... and then he just..." He broke off for a moment, hands trembling in his lap again as he gestured vaguely at his stomach, hand trailing over the massive bloodstains.

It took a moment for Riza to get it. One horrible, sickened moment, in which ignorance was bliss.

Then, she gasped.

"He stabbed himself," he said faintly, and she would never forget the shellshocked look on his face as he said those three horrible, horrible words.

"I s-should've seen it coming," he stumbled after another moment, burying his face in his hands to pull at his hair and rub at his eyes, voice unsteady and trembling. "It was his array, it was that goddamn array, I _knew_ he'd put one on himself but wasn't sure where, and then he just-"

"Wait, I'm sorry?"she interrupted, stiffening in alarm. "His _array?"_

Hughes nodded distractedly, heavy eyes still looking away. "Yes. He had his new array somewhere on him, like- like _Kimbley,_ " he spat, but then his features softened again, falling with misery and exhaustion. "Or at least he used to... it's- it's _gone_ now. That's what he stabbed. It was on his stomach and he just- just tore it apart." He shook his head again, slow and bewildering, shellshock and horror still darkening his stunned eyes. "...he just kept saying he was sorry..."

Riza's mouth went dry. She sat back in numb shock, staring wordlessly at Hughes and finding herself at an utter loss. It was as if all sense and sanity had been robbed from the world and here they were, left in the aftermath, all in free-fall together until they'd at last slammed into the hard, unforgiving ground. Her superior's blood splattered all over Hughes, blood that her superior had drawn by his own hands, because she had sworn to protect his body but she could not protect it from himself and it was increasingly seeming that was the most severe threat left to him, and Hughes, evidently, could not protect him either, despite his very best efforts, and Mustang-

Mustang was...

 _Oh, god,_ she thought simply, the horror sucking the breath out of her and leaving her helpless. _Oh... oh god._

_Colonel..._

There was a long, helpless stretch of silence. She and Hughes sat there in wordless shock together, both almost spellbound by the sight of Mustang's dark blood all over his clothes, and for a time, no words passed between them at all.

And then, it was Gracia who finally spoke up.

"Maes?" she asked slowly, moving forwards just a little from where she was sitting just behind him. She rested her hand on his shoulder again and paused before she went on, seeming to be choosing her words very carefully. "Do you know what it was that Roy was taking?"

The investigator shook his head tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face again. "Anti-anxiety pills, that's all I know. Wait, sleeping pills, too. Something prescribed by a doctor, albeit not to _him._ I didn't want to know any details, I just wanted it out of his damn house." He shivered still, wrapping his arms around himself as he settled back into his chair with a potent aura of absolute _exhaustion._ "Why?"

Gracia paused again, brow furrowed as she looked away, and in that moment it occurred to Riza that the woman was a nurse- as Hughes so often bragged about in his daily picture runs about the office. "I'd bet he got himself benzodiazepines..." she murmured to herself, but this only raised more questions than it answered.

"...Gracia?" Maes asked hesitantly, shifting a little around himself now. He reached for her free hand, waiting for her to speak.

The troubled look that began to settle on her face then was not at all reassuring.

Finally, the nurse looked back at the two of them again, her eyes darkly shadowed with worry, everything about her screaming that something was wrong in a way that was nearly unbearable. Something on her face sent apprehension curling down Riza's spine, and for the first time, she found herself subconsciously drawing close to Hughes- bracing herself for whatever it was that was going to come next.

"From what you said, Maes," she began slowly, clearly choosing every single word with the utmost care, "I do not think Roy was trying to hurt himself. I know it's a small comfort now, all things considered, but I don't think that he's suicidal or self-harming."

Riza exchanged another tense look with Hughes. "He... stabbed himself in the stomach," the man said flatly, the worry on his face chased off by a tired, worn distress. "I watched him do it. I... I don't know how he could _get_ more self-harming than that."

Riza, as much as it pained her to admit it, really had to agree. She would love it if that weren't the case- but just couldn't look at all the blood covering Hughes, and hear his explanation of what had happened, and think of any other word for it.

Except Gracia watched them both with heavy, hooded eyes, a new reluctance on her face that somehow hadn't been there before, and a tension that said this wasn't done getting worse yet. "He stabbed himself, yes, but from what you've said thus far I don't think he was trying to actually _hurt_ himself. Maes... Roy had a psychotic break."

Riza's world, already spinning off axis and kilter, lurched straight to a halt.

"...He'll be okay," the nurse hastened to add, after a few awkward, uncomfortable moments of dead silence. "He was medicated into it, so he can probably be medicated out of it. But- but, my point is, he really didn't know what was actually happening around him, where he was, who you were. He might have physically hurt himself, but we have no idea what was going through his mind at the time. He might well have believed he was being attacked and stabbing his array was the only was to stop it." She tried for an encouraging smile, looking between the two of them again. "It doesn't mean he actually _wants_ to hurt himself. I know it's... rather upsetting, but it really isn't as bad as it sounds. He'll be okay."

These words, as warm and reassuring as they were so clearly _meant_ to be, did not ease her at all. Once glance towards Hughes showed that he felt no better, either- not with the hidden tension still lurking behind his wife's nervous stab at a reassuring facade.

Not with her eyes still shadowed as if she were about to announce the gravest news of the century.

Riza exchanged another worried look with Hughes, her own trepidation cresting to a near breaking point. She drew a little closer to him, trying to calm herself, then faced Gracia again in silence. They waited together for her to explain, the tension in the air grown so thick she could've cut it with one of Hughes' knives.

And when she realized all expectations have turned to her, Gracia's own hesitant smile faded back away into her own tired worry, and her face fell as if the worry from both of them had dragged her right back down to join them.

"To me," she sighed at last, "it sounds as if Roy had- has- delirium tremens. Named for delirium," she winced a little, " which... does not need explanation... and tremens- tremors." She touched her husband's hand again. "Especially in the hands."

Hughes' eyes widened, a new light of realization dawning over his face. "He never could keep his hands still..."

Gracia nodded. "I'm not surprised. The symptoms vary but that does tend to be one of the staples. It's more common with alcoholics, but benzodiazepines work in a lot of the same ways, and they can cause it as well."

"What- you mean this was all because of those damn pills? _That's_ what caused all of this?! He hasn't even taken them in days!"

Gracia's answer, however, did not come immediately. For a moment, in fact, staring at her averted eyes and nervous hands, Riza thought that it might not come at all. "I really wish you hadn't tried to do this on your own, Maes," was all she said at last, voice small and reluctant- and Riza's worry intensified yet another notch.

This really, _really_ did not sound good.

"W-what... what do you mean? ...Gracia?" the investigator pressed, his eyes widening again. A glimmer of fear shot through them this time, Riza could see it, genuine, nervous fear, face paling again to the colorless complexion of a man perhaps about to faint, and nothing about the look on Gracia's face in that moment was reassuring to either of them whatsoever. "Gracia, what do you _mean?"_

For several long moments, Gracia continued to look away, and said nothing. Her hands still wrung together in her lap, obviously anxious and unsure, and her face remained shadowed with uncertainty and regret.

But at last, she spoke up. And, with an ever intensifying, almost nauseating sense of fear, Riza listened.

"Roy was taking something to calm himself down. He probably really needed it, and when it worked so well for him at first, just... kept taking more of it. Well," she said heavily, "we naturally produce compounds that do exactly the same thing already. We need them, to allow us to sleep, to calm ourselves down after a moment of stress- you know. Things like that. And a decade or two ago, some alchemist thought, why don't we just put that compound that our bodies already make themselves into a pill, give it to people as a sleeping pill, as something to reduce stress- and voila! Problem solved! And... well, it _was._...at first." Gracia gestured as she spoke, one hand waving about while the other remained carefully braced over her husband's, glancing slowly between the two of them as if ensuring that they both understood.

"You take it once, and it _does_ work, perfectly well, in fact. But if you keep taking it, like Roy- your body starts to realize the levels of that one compound are much, much higher than they should be. It doesn't recognize that you might like it that way; all it knows is that the balance is off- and it'll try to restore that balance." She shrugged a little again, breaking eye contact as she waved her hand about once more, words starting to gain a little a little strength and certainty. "It does that however it can; it starts trying to get rid of that compound even faster, it makes it harder for it to do its job, not responding to the lower levels it was used to having before- it's just trying to go back to the balance it knows it's _supposed_ to have, before you started putting in extras. That's what tolerance is," she explained slowly, gesturing again, "and when tolerance starts to develop, he would've had to have started taking heavier and heavier doses just to get the effect he'd used to have. The converse of this, though, is that he also became dependent on them."

"Well... w-well, yeah," Maes managed bluntly, rubbing a slightly trembling, still bloody hand across his cheek again. "That's why we had to get him off them. Because he couldn't stop taking them."

But Gracia shook her head again, squeezing his hand as she moved a little bit closer to them. "This is why I said I wish you'd told me what was going on," she told him earnestly, pained eyes moving between the both of them again. "I mean that he _couldn't_ stop taking them. His body was still doing everything it could to kick out that compound, which was all right when he was still taking huge extra amounts of it- and then, suddenly, all those extras all went away. What little he was making on his own couldn't compensate." She paused for a moment, brow furrowing again in intense worry. "Like I said, what he was taking was essentially the one substance that we have that turns things off and shuts them down. Without it there to tell things to turn off... he wouldn't have been able to calm down _at all._ That's why he couldn't stop shaking, Maes," she told him gently, squeezing his hand again. "The excitatory parts of the brain were on overdrive because there was nothing there to tell them to stop. He probably couldn't sit still or focus or be rational... might not have even been able to sleep at all," she finished quietly, sympathy shadowing her face like a heavy cloud.

By the stricken look on Hughes' face, Riza knew that everything she had just said struck a dissonant, miserable chord with him.

"S-so... so... what does that mean, then?" he stammered finally, a quietly growing look of dread on his face. "You said he couldn't stop taking them- this is... is _permanent?_ "

To this, however, Gracia was quick to shake her head, squeezing his hand again and giving them both a reassuring smile. "No. His body adjusted when he was adding in too much of it, and it'll adjust now, too, since he's stopped. It'll take him some time, and he probably should be very wary about taking something like this again or drinking in the future, but it'll balance out in the end. He'll be okay."

Riza exchanged another guarded look with Hughes. The news was good, to be sure, but to Riza, only tentatively so, and after every other horrifying revelation of today, she was not so eager to accept it with open arms- and by the look on her comrade's face, neither was he. "If that's the case, then, Mrs. Hughes, why did you say before you wished you'd known about this sooner? If he's going to get better either way, then- if it was all unavoidable..."

Gracia's expression clouded again, smile fading. She looked uncertainly to her husband, as if hesitant to continue with this at all, then back to Riza, indecision clear on her face. "Honey...?" Maes pressed again, seeming as if he could bear it no longer, and this, it seemed, was finally the piece that brought her to the breaking point.

"Because it didn't _have_ to be this way," she sighed at last, bowing her head with her sorrowful eyes now shut. "DTs... it doesn't happen to too many people- but it could've killed him, Maes. He could've died even if he'd never found that knife in the first place. From everything you said it sounds like he had a psychotic break, purely because he couldn't medicate himself to stop it. He could have _died._ "

Hughes flinched hard, starting to draw back away with a look of almost revulsion crossing his face- but his wife was not done.

"All of this happened because you and him tried to do this by yourselves," she told them steadily. Despite the words, her voice was not accusatory, but sad, as if she was gently trying to brace them through it. "There are things we can do to stop all of this from happening, or at least stop it from being quite so bad. There are things we could've done to greatly reduce all of his suffering, and there are things we could've done to keep him safe so he never ended up here to begin with. If you two had asked someone about it first he could've been slowly tapered off what he was taking, let him get back to his normal at a pace that was right for him, but instead you stopped everything that he was taking in one single night. You made it as hard on him as it possibly could've been, Maes."

Hughes blinked.

The shellshocked look, Riza noted, somewhat numbly, was back.

Again, she could not blame him for it.

She wasn't doing too much better herself, at the moment.

Hughes sat back for several moments, just blinking at his wife, eyes wide and expression wiped like a slate; blank and empty. "...What?" he asked simply at last, staring uselessly. The one word was packed with shock, and something suspiciously close to horror.

Again, Gracia's expression softened, and she turned to him with a warm, gentle smile, shaking her head as she moved her hand to his shoulder again. "I'm not blaming you or Roy for how this has turned out. You were doing your best to help him and- and god, it's obvious he _needed_ it. And it's not your fault you didn't know what could go wrong. But... but you shouldn't have done it this way, Maes. He could've _died."_

Even Riza winced at those words, wrapping her arms around herself like a protective barrier, and they weren't even addressed to her. She could see it in Gracia's eyes that the woman meant every word she said; she _wasn't_ trying to cast about blame or guilt, she _wasn't_ trying to accuse her husband of anything- but that didn't erase all that had been done, and that didn't erase the shock she already saw burning in his eyes... the shock that she knew was soon to morph into self-loathing.

"...but," he stammered at last, staring. "b-but... I thought..."

Gracia's face softened again, what little hardness she managed to draw together just melting as she reached for him again, frown falling into a miserable, helpless sort of breath of a sigh. "Oh, Maes..."

But Maes shook his head, flinching back from her hand and this time, Riza saw the horror encroaching in on his exhausted, wide eyes, eating him alive from the inside out. "He- he told me he wanted more- he _begged_ me to let him have just one- he was begging me every day for it... I could've helped him if I'd j-just, just _listened?!_ " he cried, staring desperately in between them. "He was telling me what he needed the whole time and I just ignored him?!"

Gracia opened her mouth as if to tell him no, already shaking her head, trying to calm him down- but no words came out. She hesitated again, averting her eyes back away as her shoulders fell.

To Riza and to Hughes, this was as much of an answer as any words could've ever been.

Hughes sat back limply after a shellshocked second of silence. He blinked several times, staring at nothing, face stuck in a rictus of slowly dawning, horrified shock.

Then, with a rough breath that was ragged and painful around the edges, harsh and grating like a knife, he pushed himself straight up to his feet and turned away with the abruptness of a bullet. "Excuse me," he mumbled, the words barely audible at all, and strode away so fast Riza wouldn't have been very surprised if he was about to be sick.

And Riza and Gracia were left behind together, the nurse again staring down at her knees, now plainly as guiltridden and drained as her husband, and, Riza...

Riza took in a slow, meant to be steadying breath that somehow only left her feeling even more fragile, splintering slowly apart from the inside out, and settled back into her chair as calmly as she could. She blinked for a moment, fighting back the memory of her superior's blood covering Hughes, the nightmarish image that had been conjured of him distraught, in tears, half-mad, _stabbing_ himself in the chest, fighting back every sinking feeling of her own horror and guilt and dread, the sorrow that felt as if everything was different now, changed for months and there was no changing it back, no fixing Roy, no fixing _any_ of this no matter how hard any of them tried-

She fought back it all, and settled in to wait.

There was nothing that could be done until she could speak to Roy. So she would sit, and she would wait, and until then, she _would_ be calm, because it was what was needed and she was not going to let him down.

An unsettled silence fell between them, and it persisted for a very long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final update should be on Monday. See you then!
> 
> But, an addendum- while I’m putting Roy through the worst-case scenario for dramatic effect (sry roy), none of this is made up. Drug addiction is a very serious, complicated problem, and as attractive an option as quitting cold turkey might sound, DON’T try it or encourage it before speaking with a medical professional. For many drug classes, this can potentially be fatal (or, like here, induce psychosis). Sorry to be a random buzzkill, but fanfiction tends to show really unrealistic representations of mental illness, drug addiction, things like that, and with all the stigma already out there I try to do a better job showing realistically. It was actually one of the inspirations to write this fic to begin with. 
> 
> Au revoir, my little biscuits!


	16. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH for all the comments/kudos along the way! They really meant a lot to me on this one!!! 
> 
> So, I'm leaving the series marked incomplete as of now, because this fic ends a little open-endedly and could really springboard off to anywhere, but I wanted to clarify I don't have any plans for a follow-up to this as of now. For now, at least, you're safe from the Just a Number verse, because this is where it ends :) 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you all enjoy the last update!!!
> 
> ...also it's 17.1k words so get comfortable and i am sorry ;-;

Maes took in a long, deep breath.

He tasted the cold antiseptic of the hospital in his mouth as he breathed. Felt it prickle on his skin, everything about where he stood uncomfortable and everything about what he was about to do unbearable. He smoothed his shirt down, steeling both himself and his rapidly escalating nerves as best he could. He told the anxious knot tightening gradually in his stomach to go to hell.

Then, he pushed through the door.

The moment his hesitant steps carried him to a shaking stop just over the threshold, Roy stopped what he was doing. His friend looked up.

And the sight of his best friend, quite simply, did not measure up to the nightmare that he’d been waiting for.

He looked... good.

The last time Maes had actually seen him, he’d been distraught. Almost too weak to stand, clutching desperately at a doorframe for support as his stomach wept blood, pouring sweat and tears as he screamed for respite from a person that wasn’t real and a pain that existed nowhere but in his own mind.

It had now been just over a week since then, and while today was not the first time he had made it to the hospital, it _was_ the first time he'd been able to finally steel himself enough to come to Roy's room. It had been just over one long, heart-wrenching, terrible week, each day so much worse than the last as his fear built up and up and up, and since then, all he had only heard the stories from the doctors, and then, more recently, from their friends. His wife, Roy's staff, even Ed and Al, once near the end of the week- everyone there was who cared about Roy, who had come to see him, and every last one of them had since already tried to reassure him that it was all right. That Roy was okay.

But all he’d been able to hear was his own wife telling him what his incompetence had done to Roy. All he’d been able to _see_ at all was the haunting memory of his best friend tied to a hospital bed, just days after his rescue... but this time interspersed with screams, not of fear, but betrayal.

This time, it had all been his fault.

However, none of that was true.

Roy sat there in his bed cross-legged, a thick book in his lap and a pen stuck sloppily behind one ear. In contrast to the horrific image he remembered, this Roy was clearly lucid, and had no trouble sitting up on his own or controlling himself. His eyes were clear, and his face was calm. His hair was his usual rakish disorder, maybe a little worse than that, the ends drooping like even _it_ was tired, but not the wild, unkempt, sweaty mess he remembered from before. Whatever injuries there were, the burns on his arm, the healing wound in his stomach, were hidden by the dark blue, somewhat oversized sweater over the hospital clothes, one that, in his exhaustion, it took Maes a few seconds to recognize as one of his own- Gracia had to have brought it for him, he realized with a pang of guilt. He should’ve thought to pick up something from Roy’s place himself... it didn’t help that Roy was a little smaller than him naturally, and it _really_ didn’t help that he’d lost weight, _again_ \- Maes couldn't help but worry that he’d probably surely feel a hell of a lot better wearing something of his own regardless, but-

And now he was overthinking it, worrying over the details the way Gracia had told him not to do, because- because, overall-

He looked a little tired, a little pale, a little thin, but... god, it was normal. It was okay. _He_ was okay. Even Maes, naturally overprotective, and very much in the mood to blame himself if Roy had so much as a scratch on him...

Even he could see that Roy was okay.

A nervous, almost frantic sigh of relief released from within him, escaping from clenched teeth as his stiff shoulders fell, and Roy looked away, fidgeting uncomfortably with the pages of his book.

“...Hey,” the colonel mumbled at last, voice quietly unsteady, and some of that frantic relief in Maes’ chest faded into a guiltridden apology.

“Hey.” He looked down as well, hands twitching nervously by his sides. “I, um... h-how are you doing?”

Roy shifted again, still looking more towards the wall than at him. His shoulders raised and fell in a weak, self-deprecating sort of a shrug. “Embarrassed,” he said bluntly, with a brutal, cold honesty that cut through him like a knife. “Humiliated. Feeling like I’d rather crawl into a hole in the ground and die than face anybody ever again. Tired of... all this.” He waved a pale hand around vaguely around the hospital room, then tilted his head back to meet his eyes with a sardonic, bitter smile. “You?”

...

Maes' heart sunk, and the ball of guilt already in his stomach, such a common occurrence nowadays it had become a nearly permanent addition to his life, weighed even heavier down so vividly he nearly felt anchored to the floor. The brutal honesty of it all cut through him like a knife, because he could see it in Roy's eyes- that really was _exactly_ how he felt about all of this. Maes opened his mouth, moving to retort, then just closed his eyes and again took in a deep, calming breath. He'd promised himself he wouldn't do this. Him trying to assure Roy that he shouldn’t feel embarrassed over any of it wasn't going to go anywhere, anyway... having a reason to feel some way and actually feeling it were two different things, and Maes knew, looking into his best friend's eyes now, that Roy didn't want and wouldn't appreciate the rebuke.

He'd been honest about it. Knowing Roy, a miracle, in and of itself- and, in some ways, was really all that Maes had been asking him to do for _months._

The least Maes could do was not fight him on it.

“Truthfully?" he murmured back, offering up a weak smile of commiseration. "I'm not dong that great, either." If Roy would be honest with him, then he could at least be honest right back- there was no sense in trying to hide it, anyway. He knew that he looked horrible.

After several moments passed in uncomfortable silence, Roy clearly unsure of what to say and now trying to look anywhere but at him, Maes finally stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Physically, though?” he went on, still finding it rather hard actually look at his friend. The still unhealthily pale face, the shadows under his eyes, the discomfort just from Maes being there that he'd never seen from him before... “You’re... you’re going to be okay, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course.” His friend slipped the pen out from behind his ear, tucking it into the pages as a bookmark before shutting the text in his lap with a soft, muted _thump._ “They’re only still keeping me here at all until they get the right dosage for the new meds stabilized. I feel fine. I’m pretty sure I’ll get to go home soon.”

Maes nodded slowly, hands still stuck fidgeting uncomfortably in his pockets. This, too, he had already known. Roy’s doctor but especially Gracia had been passing the news along to him for days, but it was so different to at least actually see and hear the evidence from Roy himself; in a way, Maes hadn't been able to bring himself to even believe it at all until that very moment.

Ironically, after all the suffering he'd put his best friend through to get _off_ those pills, he was now right back on them, albeit at a lower dose than before. It was just the only treatment that there was, Gracia had told him. It was a dose that was meant to taper off into nothing, yes, but after all that he'd gone through, to have all that he'd suffered turned into nothing, just like that...

Maes would've hated it, if it wasn't so obvious, looking at his best friend now, how much he needed it.

“Right..." he started awkwardly, unsure of quite what to say or how to go on from here. "I, uh... that’s... good to hear.” He momentarily cursed himself for being unable to so much as string a coherent sentence together, the words obviously awkward; the fact that he wasn’t sure of his place here or with Roy couldn’t be any more plain, or uncomfortable- but Roy seemed just as uncertain as he was. And Maes hated it. They'd known each other for nearly a decade now, been best friends for so long, endured so much together- this awkward, disquieting silence was almost more than he could bear. He had _never_ had something like with Roy before and some part of Maes was terrified that he would never be able to get back what they'd once had.

He didn't know which part of it that he hated more- the peril that he'd found his friendship with Roy in, or that it was his fault.

Maes shut his eyes tightly for a moment, struggling to regain control of himself again and reign his thoughts back on track. There were things that he'd come here to say, things beyond this awkward attempt at finding common ground and fumbling for an apology that weighed still so heavy on his heart he couldn't stand it. He had finally gotten himself here for a _reason_ and he was going to say what he'd come here to say- not let down Roy and himself all over again by just stewing away in his own, well-deserved or not, guilt.

“I- right," he said heavily, pulling in another trembling breath as he finally gathered the strength to look his friend right back in the eye. "Right. The doctor told us. About that, I mean... he told us you really shouldn’t be by yourself for a while- when you first go home, at least. Just to be safe, you know- make sure there’s no relapse. I...” God, this hurt to say. “You do need to stay with _somebody,_ Roy, but, I understand if you don’t want it to be me.”

To be perfectly fair, he would’ve understood if Roy had thrown him out the moment he’d stepped inside the room. Right now, Roy had every right to never want to so much as see him again.

But Roy did not, as his words might've deserved, laugh at him and ask him why in god's name he would _ever_ want to trust his recovery to Maes again. He didn't roll his eyes and snap out a disparaging, scathing order to get out. He didn't, as Maes perhaps expected even more, withdraw back into himself and go silent, obviously unwilling but without the strength to say _no._

In fact, by the very slight, weak smile that played onto his lips, Roy did not want to do any of those things at all.

“...well,” his friend at last began quietly, and it was all Maes could do to hold his ground and not flinch away from the scathing rebuke he knew was coming. Roy glanced up at him again, pushing his hair back out of his eyes with one hand that was, for the first time in so, so _long,_ steady. “I think, given the circumstances, I’d definitely understand if you were done putting up with me for a while. If you’re asking me, though, if I really don’t have the choice of staying alone, then I’d rather it be with you." He paused again, allowing himself another small twist of a sorrowful grin. "...keep the whole rest of the world from seeing me as this pathetic drug addict, anyway. I'm sure you'd understand... I’d rather keep the number of people who’ve seen me like this at the barest minimum possible.”

The words were low with a disgusted sort of self-loathing, and for a moment, that was all Maes could hear or see. Just the twist of dark disgust on his friend’s pale face that he knew was directed only at himself. That he knew hid more genuine humiliation and pain than Maes had hoped to ever see from him.

Maes swallowed his second retort of the day back down into his throat, another shiver running down his spine.

He couldn’t blame Roy for feeling like that.

Nor could Maes decide whether or not he was glad Roy was willing to stay with him at all, or sick at heart that it was only because Roy felt backed into a corner and with absolutely no other option.

At last, Maes just sighed, head down as he dragged himself forwards into the small hospital room he’d spent the last week having nightmares of and avoiding with every fiber of his being. He dropped heavily down into a nearby chair and pushed it back a few inches, somehow uncomfortable so close, and found himself just sitting limply by his side, shaky and silent. His heart ached, bitterness and fear twisting inside him, and he found himself unable to so much as look at him. It was all just... _wrong._ Even though Roy looked so much better than what he’d worried about, even with Roy not blaming him or yelling at him, even willing to _smile at him,_ even though it was clear he was doing so _well-_ he could still just not bear to see him like this. This brutally honest version of his best friend, when Roy was known for his slick, silver tongue, the way he just came out and admitted to it all, his own hurts and weaknesses and shame...

Honest, perhaps, because he'd been defeated so badly he didn't even have it in him to lie anymore.

He couldn't bear _any_ of this.

And no matter how guilty and ashamed it made him, Maes found that he couldn't gather together the strength to do anything more than stare at his knees, awful and sickening guilt swimming in his chest the entire time.

This was all his fault.

“...Roy,” he murmured at last. His voice was hoarse, forced out past the growing lump in his throat. It sounded weak and choked, but it didn’t matter. He had to say this. “Roy, I’m sorry. Okay? I... was wrong. And, I shouldn’t have-“

“Stop, Maes.”

And, for the first time in _weeks,_ Maes finally just listened to his best friend, and did as he asked.

“Please,” Roy went on after several moments, his voice calm and steady. “What exactly are you apologizing for?”

Maes’ heart jolted hard again, the almost freakishly emotionless words again twisting in his chest with anguish. What was he _apologizing_ for?

An easier question would be what _wasn’t_ he apologizing for.

After everything that he’d done...

“For doing this to you,” he choked at last. He couldn't even pull himself together enough to face the look in Roy's eyes. “For being the reason you’re here. I... I made you do this- even when you weren't ready to stop, even when you were telling me how much you needed them... even when you got _sick,_ I didn’t listen to you! I just- kept insisting you stop- Roy, I should’ve listened to you. I'm so, _so_ sorry. God, you would’ve almost been better off overdosing yourself to death than staying with me. Roy-“ He gestured weakly at him but was still blind, gaze planted on his lap, sick at heart and too much of a coward to face him. He was a coward and he was scared of his own best friend's rebuke but after all the pain he'd been through at Maes' own hands he _deserved_ it. “I made... so many mistakes... I should’ve stopped, should’ve... should’ve _not_ , I- I handcuffed you, Roy! You were sick, and I just ignored it and _handcuffed_ you, I thought you were- the whole time I thought you were just being _stubborn_ , I-... Roy...”

There were a hundred things that he should have done.

He’d done none of them.

“...I’m sorry,” he whispered again, then just fell uselessly silent.

He had promised to Roy that he would take care of him, and in the end, had done nothing less than single-handedly break him. Every last bit of his suffering through these past few weeks was his fault. The nightmares, the breakdowns, the _torture_ he'd suffered through- and Maes could've ended it at any time if he'd just _listened_ to him.

Tears abruptly burned in his eyes, miserable, apologetic, shameful _tears,_ and Maes did not have the will to wipe them away. He let them start to spill over, burning against his face and choking in his throat, and even as he sat there, baring himself for his best friend's judgment, now crying before him, all but begging for forgiveness that he did not deserve- he still could not look at him. He still, _still,_ could not bring himself to look him in the eyes.

Roy, however, did not rebuke him. Roy did not tell him to be a man and look him in the eyes. Roy did not do what he'd have every right to and tell him to go.

Roy, in fact, was simply quiet for a long time. Motionless and silent across from him, so very still that the tension in the room felt like a lake freezing over in winter, thick and solid and between them like a sheet of glass. The silence persisted for so long he could not bear it, and then longer still, Roy just _quiet,_ until Maes could not even stand it.

And then- Roy spoke.

“I know you are, Maes. I know that you're sorry.”

The anger and blame that he’d been bracing himself for for so long, and most certainly would’ve deserved, were curiously absent. The betrayal, too, was not there.

“But..." the colonel went on quietly, "I've been thinking about it a lot. And, I don't think any of those are really valid reasons for you to be sorry.”

Maes’ head jerked up.

Roy was right there, waiting for him at last. Roy, so pale and tired and still unwell- Roy was waiting. And when Maes looked up to finally meet his eyes, he _smiled._ “You didn’t know, Maes," he said. "Neither of us did. It’s that simple. I think we can both agree things got out of hand, but I’m at fault for that just as much as you, and as for you listening to me...” Roy trailed off into a weak shrug, his words tinged with self-loathing, his smile sad in a way that was painfully too familiar. “Sure, I guess I can say that I wish you had- but be honest, Maes; I wasn’t asking for you to hand over more of my pills because I knew that _this_ was what would happen.” He gestured up and down the hospital bed with a trembling hand. “Maes, the only thing I can really fault you for is not checking with a doctor to realize how dangerous stopping everything in one night really was. And I can guess enough people have blamed you for that already that you don’t need me to add onto that. Besides... I’m guilty of the same.”

Maes gaped at him.

Roy _didn't blame him?_

No.

That was-

 _No,_ he thought again, head slowly tempted into a limp, back and forth shake, the whole of him boneless and stunned as he sank back into his chair with all the fight robbed straight out of him. No. That was just... unacceptable. Roy could not look at all he'd gone through these past few weeks, look at Maes _knowing_ it was because of his actions, but not blame him for it.

It was too much. Roy had been through _too much_ for Maes to be able to sit here now and see him cast it all away.

"I... really can't believe you," he said at last.

But Roy gave him a slight, snarky grin, the corner of his mouth twitching up and his eyes, tired as they were, actually lightening with amusement. “Nobody ever does,” he finished warmly, but the words were a little weak, and all too soon his face fell into a solemn mask as he averted his eyes again, shoulders slumping and fingers interlacing. “I suppose I owe you an apology, too, don’t I? My memory’s quite fuzzy, but... I imagine a did and said a lot to you that you didn't deserve."

What...? No- no, _no,_ now he was making it even worse. _No._ It was one thing for him to refuse to blame Maes, but now to try to even shoulder that blame himself- “Don’t even think about it, buddy,” he rasped hoarsely, heartbreak forming so painfully inside him it all but tore him right in two. “Don't even think about it. Considering everything, I think you had more than a good excuse-“

“But I don’t _want_ an excuse, Maes. I know that. I know that I have every excuse imaginable right now, to blame you or defend myself, do whatever I need to to survive- but I do not _want_ that."

"...Roy?"

The colonel opened his mouth again, starting to go on, but then just stopped, his steady voice falling again into silence and his shadowed expression falling straight after it. He stared down to his lap in silence, pale and closed off, seeming to struggle to settle his composure, to gather his thoughts in his muddled head... but by the look on his face alone, it was now very clear to Maes now that whatever he wanted to say now, he had been wanting to say for a _while._

Maes kept silent.

At last, Roy began to push himself up a little more, breathing out long and steady and with it, shedding the unease that clung to his face like a second skin. Maes watched as Roy drew himself up and with it, eased himself right out of the role of unwell hospital patient, instead morphing straight back into his natural role of commander and authority even as Maes wilted back away from it. It was almost funny, in a morbid sort of a way; his best friend saw there underweight and fatigued and coming off the sickest he'd ever been, in a hospital bed while Maes was in full uniform and fully healthy- and yet it was Roy who was in control and in charge. It was Roy who slipped into his role as the colonel as naturally as breathing and Maes who was left silent, wordless as he waited for his friend to take charge and write the path that would take them both out of this nightmare.

He didn't realized how much he'd really missed Roy until that very moment. Watching him square his shoulders and straighten himself upright with a militaristic aura of discipline, of control, just be _the colonel_ again, the colonel that he hadn't been for so long, and affection and sorrow swelled in his throat to burn in his eyes to leave Maes sitting back in silence, unable to say so much as a single word.

God, he'd missed this Roy so _much._

Roy took in another slow, steadying breath, closing his eyes for a heartbeat as he again seemed to anchor and calm himself. Then he looked right back to Maes with those strong, dark eyes, dark eyes beautifully steadier and clearer than he'd seen from them in months- and perhaps even longer than that; perhaps since the day Roy had gone missing and Archer had torn all their lives apart with it. "Maes, I'm tired of having excuses," he said finally, and when Maes started to pull away it was Roy who reached out, grabbing at his wrist with a cold hand and anchoring him back in place. "I know you all mean well, but handwaving every mistake I've made, every way I've broken so many things, every wrong word I say or wrong action I take just because after what I've been through it's _understandable_ or _okay_ doesn't make things better. It just gives me something to fall back on and if I have that something to fall back on, I'll never have a reason to try and move forwards instead. I know that you want to coddle me, to protect me and make it so I never have to go through anything difficult ever again- but that won't help me, Maes. I was... hurt. Yeah. I was hurt. Badly. But that did not make me a child. I can still take responsibility for what I've done. All I ask is that you let me do it. "

When Maes did not break venture to break the silence after those words, his throat too tight with emotion to even speak through it, Roy softened a little, the hard light in his eyes calming into something more bearable and understanding. "So... so, then..." He took a breath, again squaring his shoulders and straightening himself. He bowed his head down in what seemed a great, almost agonized effort to retain control of himself and calm himself down.

Then, at last, he spoke.

"Then, I'm sorry, Maes. I've fucked up a lot and... and made pretty much everything worse with it, and I'm sorry. I know it's been incredibly hard on you and you've sacrificed a lot to try and keep me afloat and I'm sorry for that, too. I'm sorry for making it so hard on you when you were only trying to help me, I'm sorry for lying to everyone for so long, I'm..." He paused, dark eyes narrowing as they drifted down to his lap again. Another cloud of indecision swept through his stormy eyes before he beat it right back, clarity and stability and calm grasped once again. "You were right, Maes. No matter the reason for why I did all these things, how justifiable you might want to say it is, it's only in my power to decide to change myself, change for the better, and- I'm going to try from now on. I'm going to at least try to be better from now on. I'm not going to continue on that, just... that path to self-destruction that I was on before." He hesitated again, averting his eyes downwards as his free hand strayed back to himself, brushing against where, even now, Maes knew he was taped with gauze and closed shut with stitches. A shadow crossed his face, and his grim, determined gaze wavered.

"I'm also sorry for... for what I made you have to see and deal with, that last day." His voice wavered again, smaller than before, almost younger, somehow. "I don't remember very much of it, but I do imagine it wasn't very pleasant."

A miserable, almost heartbroken sort of laugh caught in his throat, and he shook his head with one pathetic smile. Pleasant? No, in fact, that day had not been very _pleasant._ It hadn't been pleasant at all. It was one of the worst things he'd ever seen in his life and he knew it was going to haunt his nightmares for years to come.

Even some nights already, he hadn't been able to sleep, and instead had gone to sit quietly in his daughter's room. He'd watched her as close as he could, trying to see only her little smile and the soft way she mumbled in her sleep and hugged her pillow, burning the image into his mind to block out the one of his best friend sobbing and dragging a knife through his own stomach.

_If you just hadn't left him alone..._

Maes shook himself briefly, casting off the familiar wave of guilt as he faced his friend again. Maybe he shouldn't have left him alone, maybe it was for the best that he had; either way, it was done and there was no taking it back now. "Well," he forced out after a stretch of silence, only allowing himself to speak when he was sure he could hold his voice steady. "Well... if you get to give me a litany of things you're sorry for... don't you think it's fair that I at least get to give you one of my own?"

Roy tilted his head a little, observing him through half-lidded, narrowed eyes. "This isn't Christmas. We don't have to exchange gifts," he said at length, even allowing himself a small smile, but this quickly faded back into his previously somber gaze, hooded and guarded. "I suppose I can't stop you."

"You've never been able to stop me once in your life," he chuckled weakly, even managing another genuine start to a tiny smile. But this, too, was quickly faded away by the sobering sight before him. "I'm... sorry, too, Roy. I know a lot of this is just hindsight being twenty twenty, I- I've been thinking a lot, trying to find some point where I could've realistically turned things around and I _still_ don't know, but... I am sorry. This... I never wanted to hurt you through- t-through _any_ of this, Roy, please, you have to believe that."

But to this heartfelt and guiltstricken apology, as meager and tiny as it seemed to Maes, a tiny drop against the insurmountable wall of so much that had gone wrong, so many things that should not have happened to him and that Roy deserved an apology for- his friend merely offered him a sly, simple smile. He shrugged a little again, slowly brushing a thumb along the book cover in his lap. "Of course I believe that," he said quietly, still watching him with that odd, restrained look again. "Why would I ever think otherwise?"

_Because..._

Maes swallowed hard, sinking back into his chair to say nothing, averting his eyes just as Roy had. _Because I would,_ he wanted to say, but no, that wasn't true. If their positions were reversed he knew that he would never blame Roy. He'd never think in a million years his best friend had been trying to hurt him. He loved Roy and no matter what happened, he'd never be able to hold him at fault for something like this. Not when he'd only been trying to help.

 _Because I blame myself,_ he knew, was the real answer.

Because he blamed himself.

But...

Perhaps, as Roy had said to him just minutes before, that really wasn't a good enough reason to justify it with.

He watched as the colonel slowly settled back again, stroking an absentminded pattern against his book's cover as he averted his eyes back away, a shadow crossing his face to darken his eyes with its insecurity and worries, his friend even seeming to almost shrink under the weight of them. "If you haven't already guessed, I've been... doing this a lot lately. The apology tour, I mean." He slumped a little more back against his pillow, hugging himself loosely as if he cold from the inside out, wanting to shrink away or hide but with nothing to hide himself _with._ "Gracia told me I'd better get over it before I'm next invited over for dinner... said she wouldn't tolerate that under her own roof. Lieutenant Hawkeye's to the point where she's told me she'll sicc her dog on me if I dare give her another one."

Maes smiled a little himself, the tension in his shoulders unfurling another notch at the additional reminder of a return to something at least resembling normal, of Roy's fight to drag himself back there despite every obstacle in his way. Maes had heard the stories from his wife himself, Gracia gently trying to persuade him to visit his friend, and he'd found himself at the hospital many times already, unable to face entering Roy's room... but at least able to watch as Hawkeye did.

For someone who'd bolted at the very thought of speaking to his adjutant before, Roy had done a miraculous job in at least tolerating her presence now. An hour or more each day, and Hawkeye's shoulders had looked just a little bit lighter as the week ticked on- Maes knew she'd even won the doctor's permission to take him on a walk with Hayate yesterday morning, a test of sorts, trying to see how in control of himself he'd be able to be.

As far as he knew, his friend had passed with flying colors.

His best friend was getting better. Somehow, against all odds and every obstacle and every last trauma that had been inflicted on him and shoved in his way- he was getting better.

Maes couldn't have been more proud of him.

"Even Ed and Al told me off a little for it..." Roy went on, gesturing a hand again. A little unsteady, just a slight tremor, but compared to the violent shudders that had once wracked him from head to toe... god, Maes would take it. "Well, they wanted to, I think. They both didn't really seem to know what to do with me... they looked really off balance to have to see me like this. But Al just got flustered and Ed looked like he wanted to punch someone when I gave my apology to them." He paused again, a slight, fond smile crossing his face, eyes rolling back towards the ceiling but did not even come close to disguising the genuine affection held for those two boys. "As if that's any different than usual."

Maes bit back a quiet snicker himself, shaking his head. "And dare I ask what on earth you think you'd had to apologize to _them_ for? What's next, your aunt's pet cat? My grandmother? The private who runs the motor pool?"

His best friend shuddered, rubbing a still slightly unsteady hand over his face again. "My aunt. Wonderful. Thanks for the reminder... I need to say something to her, too, or at the very least buy her a new window."

Maes smiled a little at that. At least that one, he could agree with Roy on.

"But," the colonel went on somberly, "for the Elric brothers... I haven't been a very good superior officer to them, Maes. I failed in my responsibility to them, and- and I've failed in it for a very long time. They deserve better than what I've been able to give them."

Already, instinct pushed him to open his mouth, driven by both those quiet, guilt-packed words and the even guiltier shadow in his eyes to speak up and tell him no. That it wasn't his fault, that he'd been trying his best and that was enough, that after everything he'd been through Maes didn't blame him and he knew the boys didn't, either- but after everything he'd already heard here today he knew, as much as it hurt him to accept it, that Roy didn't want that. Roy didn't want excuses or defenses any more. He wanted to accept responsibility.

Maes could not deny him even that.

If he wanted to accept responsibility, and, more than that, use that to motivate himself to heal from now on- to recover to be _better-_ Maes, for one, could never take that from him.

Roy paused for another few moments longer after that, withdrawing a little into himself for his face to fade even paler. He drew his legs up to himself a little, like his pride wouldn't allow him to curl up fully like a child but something in him still wanted to, and his metal fingers were suddenly wrapping anxiously around the blankets in what Maes had long ago learned to recognize as that nervous tick of his that he only expressed when he felt especially upset about something.

He bit his tongue, held himself still in silence, and waited.

"...I've also wanted to say something to... to Melissa. To tell her how..." He swallowed so hard Maes could see his throat jump, the voice he'd fought so steady wavering, and the faintest glimmer of anguish through his eyes was nothing more than that. Just the slightest glimpse.

But in that slightest glimpse, the pain waiting for him there was so vivid, so deep, so _real,_ it all but took Maes' breath away.

Then it was gone, muffled underneath another bitter cast of a self-depreciating smile, but Maes knew it was still there, and it was all he could do to not pull Roy into his arms again to try and smother it right out himself.

"...well, I guess I didn't have much hope that she'd stop by for a visit," he said finally, voice quiet and young, somehow. He offered up a slight, fragile smile again.

It was too flimsy to even come close to hiding the hurt in his eyes.

Maes closed his eyes for a beat of silence. He took in a long, shuddering breath to calm himself, unfurling his hands in his lap and loosening his shoulders and easing the tension in his chest, trying to keep still, trying to keep himself steady. As badly as he wanted to give it, physical contact and comfort would not fix this. A hug was not a bandaid and in Roy's current state, could in fact wind up being just the opposite. He breathed in as steadily as he could, fighting to calm himself down; to ease away the own miserable hurt in his chest to nothing.

He looked at his withdrawn, so quietly miserable friend again.

"Buddy?" he asked softly.

Roy looked away without even another word. He hunched his shoulders a little, wrapping his arms around himself and curling just a little more into himself.

The sight alone, so sad and just... _lonely..._ was nearly more than Maes could take.

He bore it anyway. He forged straight on.

"You know how you told me I didn't get to apologize for how you ended up here? For all that went wrong, because of my actions?" Unable to stop himself then, he _did_ shift a little closer, not touching Roy just yet but laying his hand down on the side of the bed. "That I was only trying to help, really didn't know the dangers, and I shouldn't apologize for that?"

Roy's dark eyes narrowed.

By the look on his face alone, Maes knew that his best friend already knew exactly where he was going with this.

Well, he wasn't going to go back down now.

Not this time.

"Well," he said, this time reaching forward enough to carefully brush his fingers against the cold skin of Roy's scarred hand. "If you don't think I get to apologize for that, then you should apply those same standards to yourself about Melissa." He went quiet for a moment, letting the silence stretch and weigh ever heavier, hoping to somehow use that to drive his words home. "You _are not_ responsible. You _are not_ to blame. And... I think you know that, too."

Roy stiffened violently, jerking back away from Maes with an angry twist to his mouth. "What would you know?" he muttered, pressing himself back against the pillows again and yanking his hand back, it flitting anxiously around his face as he stared stubbornly away, refusing to look at him at all but the bitter denial was clear. "What the hell would you know? Come on, Hughes, there's a line, you- I can't just be absolved because I- I-"

"Because you were raped that day, too?"

Roy flinched so violently he nearly rocked straight out of bed.

Like a bandaid again, Maes thought, watching the shock and horror and agony burn through his washed out features, the agony in his eyes that he could not hide, the sudden tension in his hands and the little sparks of electricity that tried to alight on the scarred, broken arrays all over his arms. Rip the bandaid straight off because it'd hurt more now, but in the long run...

Well, it was as Roy himself had said, just minutes ago.

He did not need to be coddled.

He needed _this._

"You were just as unwilling as she was," he went on after a stretch of thick silence. Gentler now, not daring to touch him again right now but refusing to allow his voice to waver. "You were _both_ forced. That's... that's rape, Roy."

"Like you- like you would _know,"_ he spat again, but there was weakness there, now, a crack underneath the fervor and Roy still could not look at him, fiery eyes desperately searching to glare at anything but at him. "L-like you fucking know what what it feels like- what the hell are you thinking, Hughes? You don't know what- you couldn't possibly fucking understand, you've got _no idea..."_

"...No. I don't understand. You're right, Roy: I will never be able to understand." Maes paused, swallowing back at the lump trying to form in his throat as he looked at Roy, Roy who still could not look at him, so pale and shaken and withdrawn and abruptly upset. "But do you want to know? You asked what I was thinking... well?" He waited a moment, staring harder, trying to force his friend's gaze back to him with nothing more imploring than that alone. They'd flipped so easily; Maes hadn't been able to so much as look at Roy when he'd first came here today but now here they were, Maes trying to drive him to look back at _him._ "Do you really want to know, Roy?"

His best friend stiffened violently again. His nervous gaze half-darted off his lap, starting to drift back over to him, then abruptly jerked back to his lap as if he was physically unable to so much as look at him. He shivered harder, breaths shallow and unsteady, equal parts hurt and hesitancy in his exhausted, haunted eyes.

But he did not speak up to stop him.

So Maes, steeling himself as best he could with a long, steadying breath and a longer, carefully calming silence faced his best friend, and he at last found the words that he had been needing to say since the very day they had met Melissa Weber- and the very words that some part of him hoped were what Roy needed to hear.

“I think you feel terrible about what happened to that woman, _and_ what happened to you," he said quietly, staring right into his best friend's pale, nervous face, and whenever Roy's nervous gaze flitted back to find him, he was waiting to stare right into his eyes. "I also think you know, somewhere in that brilliant head of yours, that none of it was your fault. But you also know that none of the people _actually_ responsible will _ever_ feel, see, or admit to any guilt and blame for it. So you try to blame yourself, instead. Because you think that _somebody,_ at least, should be punished for the hell that Melissa went through- the hell that _both_ of you went through- and it’s so much easier to blame yourself and burden your own shoulders with that guilt than face that you were just as much of a victim as she was. That it’s easier to do that than to have to accept that you live in a world where something that terrible can happen and there is no justice for it."

Maes broke off then, still watching his friend, the emotions that continued to flit across his pale, shadowed face, too fast to identify anything but just _pain,_ so much pain, the agony that had piled up higher and higher over months of suffering and then tried to be buried for months after it... but there it was now. Perhaps too restrained for someone else to see, but Maes knew his best friend, and he knew that pain too well not to recognize it.

And he knew it was a pain that was not provoked by his words, but at the abuses and suffering he'd already endured. That he had not just endured, but _survived._ He knew that pain would live on if he let that suffering continue to fester inside of him, just as vivid and anguished now as the day those monsters had put the gun to his head and the day he'd met Melissa again and learned she was pregnant and the day he'd stabbed himself. The suffering that just because he could hide it now, Maes knew, still lived on inside him, waiting until it could tear him apart.

If he let it, he knew Roy would let that suffering poison him until it killed him.

So he was going to do his damnedest to stop it.

"I think it may be easier for you to try and live like that now, Roy," he said steadily. He reached out gingerly with one careful hand, resting it very lightly against Roy's, grip brushing over the heavy scarring that lined where flesh became metal. Roy flinched again and this time, it took a strong effort for Maes not to flinch with him. "It may be easier, Roy- but it's wrong. And if you don't refuse it now, it's going to kill you. You don't deserve that burden, and I think you know that."

His best friend was quiet. He did not pull his hand away from Maes' but the automail fingers tensed again in the sheets, curling slowly with a barely restrained tension and guilt, and the clenched line of his jaw somehow went even tighter.

"How... how can you sit there, and say that?" he asked finally. His voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper, eyes still averted firmly away but his face was haunted, destroyed, a vivid canvas of raw pain that his soft, unsteady words were too small to contain. "How do you sit there, Maes, and tell me I did nothing wrong? I... I could've... I should've..."

When Roy trailed off into silence again, Maes moved closer, the careful brush of his fingers against his turning harsher as he wrapped his hand around Roy's instead, still squeezing around the automail and the scars, trying to remind him of the recovery he'd already fought through and the strength still in him to do it again. “I can sit here and tell you that because I think we both know it’s true. Could’ve, should’ve _what?_ Face it, Roy; you never have any answer to that, because there is _not_ one. You could’ve died. You could’ve watched her get murdered. That’s what you could’ve done. But you didn’t. You made a choice to try and do whatever you had to to make sure she stayed alive, and there is no shame in that.”

His friend stayed quiet again. He continued to avoid his gaze, so severely it was as if he was afraid it might burn him, and remained tense, withdrawn, and silent, completely unmoving and so stiff but, in a way, like glass.

Solid and strong and still... but all it would take was one carefully placed blow to shatter him apart.

"...I'm not asking you to accept this right now," Maes sighed at last, withdrawing his hand back to himself. "I understand that it's... not easy. And I know I’m being a hypocrite right now, because I’d probably feel just like you do if the same thing happened to me. But you asked me what I honestly thought, Roy. So, I told you.”

Once more, an impossible, thick silence fell. Maes could taste his best friend's anguish on the air, but it was a suffering that was too deep for him to touch, so he again bit his tongue, quieting his natural instinct to fill the space with words and reach out to try and physically comfort him. He sat back in the quiet, this time keeping his hands to himself, and he watched him.

He did what he should've done this whole time, and instead of dragging Roy forwards before he was ready, he kept his silence, and he waited for Roy to be ready to move forward himself.

There was another long, unsettled sort of pause. Roy coughed a little, head still turned so firmly away Maes could glimpse the horrible brand on his neck. The cough was thick and odd sounding, a little too hoarse and low to be quite natural, but when Maes tilted his head to the side, concerned, it was only for his friend to wordlessly bring his free hand up to quickly, almost ashamedly, wipe at his eyes.

Oh.

Maes opened his mouth again, caught between his own instinct to just say _something,_ apologize, anything, and knowing Roy desperately would not want attention to it and would be happiest if he'd pretended he'd seen nothing. He swallowed hard and worked his jaw again, still frozen and stuck, utterly unsure of what to do (because he certainly had not intended for _this_ to happen)-

"There's... this part of me."

Maes flinched in surprise.

Roy's voice was small, nearly entirely inaudible, but it was steady, and it was there. He still wouldn't look at Maes, wouldn't so much as let him see his face. But even without being able to see his expression... even with his voice so small and restrained, choked in his own throat, it was barely more than a monotonous whisper...

He knew this was something, too, that Roy needed to say.

Again, he kept silent.

"...There's this... small part of me," Roy tried again, throat jumping as he tried to swallow. "That despite everything, how much I hurt Melissa, just thinks about it, a-and... just desperately wants to know this baby. That knows it’s a part of me, and I- all I can think about is how amazing it would be to- to have the honor of seeing him grow up. Of getting to help raise him." He stopped for a beat, voice shuddering again, trembling over a deep crack that seemed to split him down from head to toe. "There’s a part of me that wants that more than _anything_."

He went still for another moment then, fingers twisting about his sweater in his lap, gaze distant and hazy, averted still but clouded now, as if what he saw was not anything that was in that room.

Then he jerked around with an abruptness that shattered the silence, facing Maes at last with a hard, bitter stare of sore eyes and a laugh that was all misery and self-revulsion. "And meanwhile, I just got out of the psych ward for the second time in a year and have spent my week being bounced between therapists who are torn between diagnosing me as a drug addict or a lunatic. The mother wants absolutely nothing to do with me, and I'm so unfit you'd probably have to arrest anyone who gave a baby to me for child endangerment. And some part of me _still_ wants to inflict myself on the both of them, b-because I can't just- just _stay away."_ He laughed again, long and cutting and near hysterical, cracking over the emotion of it as he violently pushed himself back against the headboard, shuddering and staring upwards and abruptly almost near distracted tears. _"_ God- what is _wrong_ with me, Maes?!”

The distraught, desperate sort of defeat resolute in Roy's voice was nearly entirely overwhelming, and made Maes' heart sink in his chest in the same breath as his throat tightened with a desperate sort of emotion of his own. He was pinioned by that defeated stare that pierced through his chest with all the pain of a serrated blade, left in silence to swallow hard, trying to grapple for stability, calm, _something..._

But in the face of his best friend's despair, it was very hard to grasp for anything at all.

Finally, however, he found the strength to shake his head. He reached forward again, gently untangling the angry, shaking fist that had formed in Roy's lap, sliding his fingers through it to force it to unfurl and maybe, on some level, force Roy to calm down, too. He stared back into his eyes, willing for him to listen.

“I don’t think," he said carefully, "that wanting to be a part of your child’s life is anything wrong at all, Roy.”

Roy's bitter, haunted smile, however, only deepened.

"Even when I’m not fit for it at all?"

"Roy..."

The colonel just shrugged a little, not removing his hand from Maes', but the look on his face felt so far away from Maes' ability to touch and smooth away, miles distant and withdrawn and buried underneath such exhaustion and pain, and he went on with such a solid, unwavering voice it nearly broke his heart. "Because I'm not, Maes. I'm not fit for it, and more than that, I have no right to it. I know that every time Melissa sees me she has to remember what I did to her- and every time I see her I have to remember it, too. What right could I possibly have, to force my presence on her? And what right could I _ever_ have for inflicting myself on an innocent child? I’m a mess, Maes, and you can’t deny it. And I’m not stupid or arrogant enough to claim I could manage to pull myself together enough to be what a child would need. B- because-" And then he was gesturing again, some of that steely facade crumbling as guilt washed over his face again, his sure stare poisoned by indecision and guilt and his voice stumbling, "because there's that small part of me that wants this- and then a very big part of me that’s so... _revolted_... that he even exists. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to know him. I don't want him to exist and it makes me _sick_ that he does. That child is everything that we both went through and everything wrong with the world when he hasn't e-even- even taken a breath on his own... for every part of me that already just- just loves him, there's another that already _hates_ him! I-"

A wild, startled sort of laugh burst out and he shook his head violently, lowering his face into his hands for his fingers to curl and drag through his hair, his breaths cut short and almost panicked. Maes recognized it in a heartbeat, he'd spent too long by Roy's side to not, the violent and unbearable rise of a panic attack, and his stomach dropped in the same moment as his best friend gasped. No- he'd been doing so well, he'd gotten so much _better,_ he'd recovered so far this whole week _-_ Maes' heart sunk and all but shattered all on it's own just like that. No, Roy couldn't slide back, not now-!

He reached forward with a trembling hand, desperately wanting to somehow fix this, take it all back and calm him down but there was nothing to say. _I'm sorry,_ he wanted to say, _I'm sorry, Roy,_ a little moan spilling out his lips but it wasn't enough- god, he'd ruined everything all _over again,_ he kept doing this, he kept hurting Roy-

But then, before his eyes, even as his own guilt escalated and his heart squeezed in anguish and he sat there helpless and useless, panic growing right along with eyes...

Roy did not need his help.

He squeezed his dark eyes shut, stuttery breaths still coming in short and shallow but fought deeper than before. He pressed a hand to his chest and at first there was nothing, just those faint tremors still working down his spine as he flinched with each and every last hoarse gasp, ragged almost groans that grated in Maes' ears like glass, but- but he didn't tip the other way. He didn't crumble back apart as Maes had seen so many times before. He breathed in again, long and hitched and shuddering, and then once more, deeper than before and a fight against the panic that Maes knew he no longer had any handful of pills to keep at bay. His shoulders shook and he bowed his head for a tense moment of stillness, hand still pressed against his chest and each breath a deepening, trembling last stand.

Then, the tensed, curled claw of his hand loosened. The stiff line of his shoulders began to fall, and his next breath was a quieter, almost gentler whisper of calmness. He looked exhausted now, even more tired than before... but to Maes' disbelief, the nervous tension of escalating panic was already gone.

That disbelief morphed into an intense, almost liquifying wave of solid relief, and for a moment, he felt so warm and light he wanted to all but lift out of his seat in joy.

He was okay.

"Sorry," the colonel said at last. His voice was gruff and almost awkward, but steady. "I... I can't talk about this right now." That was all, just that abrupt, vaguest of explanations, and Roy still wouldn't look at him at first, instead now rubbing his hands over his face seemingly just for the excuse to look somewhere else, but it was steadier and calmer than Maes could've ever expected, and when Roy finally raised his head his face was clear, too. A little nervous and definitely uncomfortable, perhaps, but _clear._

"Can we just... what's up with you, Maes?" He managed a fragile shrug, focusing his uncertain smile back on him as he straightened back up again, still radiating a sense of discomfort and unease but at least better than before. "Enough about me; what've you been getting yourself up to? Maybe getting something done at work now that I'm not there for you to harass?"

The sudden shift was abrupt and almost unsettling, the look on Roy's face clearly one he was struggling to maintain and his smile still weak, but Maes knew him well enough to understand without a second thought. He was asking, as best he could, for Maes to distract him. To change the subject away from Melissa because right now, that was all that Roy needed.

Maes, after another few uncertain, unsettling moments, at last allowed himself to relax back into a slight grin of his own.

He could certainly give him that much.

"Don't think you're the only one who I talk to at work, my friend," he said, as warm as could be, "and don't you _dare_ think I don't have an album's worth of stories that you missed when you're more up to it-" and when Roy managed a weak, relaxed sort of laugh back, Maes smiled again, and talked on.

He could do this much for Roy.

He could at least do this.

Maes talked on, just as unsettled as Roy at first, unsure of how to navigate this new and unfamiliar dynamic with this newly withdrawn and uncertain best friend, but as the minutes ticked by he found himself settling warmly back into something that he knew very well. This was still Roy, a little bruised and battered but underneath it all, still him- and this time, he wasn't the only one trying.

Roy wanted this just as much as he did.

For the first time in such a long while, Roy was actually, genuinely trying, fighting just as hard as he was to restore them to something familiar, to _heal,_ and Maes hadn't realized how unbearable the weight of resigned defeat on his shoulders had been until it finally started to lessen.

Maes slowly allowed himself to relax, meandering through a story about Elicia to the ongoing betting pools at the office to Ed and Al's recent attempt to teach Black Hayate to deliver their reports down the hall. And Roy may've been tired, his eyes darkly circled and losing focus every couple of minutes, but the colonel listened and relaxed with him and it was all that Maes had needed to find a sense of peace himself. Roy _was_ healing. Maybe not there yet, and maybe the road to recovery was still long and treacherous, but despite every last one of his worst fears since that day in his apartment and perhaps even before that, he _was_ healing and he _was_ going to get better.

That was all that Maes needed.

At a certain point, their conversation fell to a lull, the colonel seeming more tired now than before and struggling a little to keep up. He'd finally relaxed from his straight-backed, firmly in control mask, leaning and curling back just a little for his eyes to flicker every few minutes, and Maes sat back as well, observing his friend's quiet struggle with sleep with a warm mixture of fondness and concern.

He looked better. He looked... a lot better.

The colonel narrowed his eyes after a few moments of silence, glancing back at Maes and meeting his eyes with a slight frown. "It's not polite to stare. What, is there something on my face?"

This time, it was Maes' turn to roll his eyes, grinning at the light tease. "What? No- no, I was just... thinking, I guess. You're... looking much better."

Roy raised an eyebrow, curious frown deepening again. "I should certainly hope so."

"Well... yeah. Yeah, me too. But I meant... oh, hell." Maes sighed, rubbing a hand along his face in a tired sort of frustration, aggravated as the words twisted his tongue into awkward knots, refusing to come out right and just _say it._ "You're obviously doing a lot better, _now,_ I mean. But you were so sick before... I know some of it was because of- of what I did..." He flinched, swallowing hard, but the abruptly stubborn light to Roy's glare was enough for him to keep a grip on himself, dragging on past the guilt towards what he wanted to say. "But- but you said yourself that that wasn't all. That that was just... how you _felt_ , if you couldn't take anything."

Roy did not say anything. His smile, however, was completely gone, and the exhausted sort of sleepy calm in his eyes had faded away behind the hard, impassive stare.

Maes swallowed hard again, steeling himself before that piercing gaze, and forged on.

"What are you going to do if that comes back, Roy? You... y-you can't go back to what you were doing before. You just _can't._ I-" He broke off, shivering again, then when faced with his best friend's still perfectly unwavering, unavoidable stare found himself averting his own eyes, slumping back into his seat as uncertainty found him again. What was he thinking, bringing this up? Everything had been going so well and then he'd just gone off, asking about something Roy was sure to not want to even _think_ about- as if he even had the right to ask him about something so private after what he'd put him through-

"I'm sorry, I'm- never mind, never mind. We don't have to talk about that, I shouldn't have even brought it up." He found a nervous smile pulling at his lips, already raising a hand to wave it off- but the look on Roy's face silenced him.

Pale but determined, serious and steady with every shadow of fatigue now chased away. He began to work himself back upright, balancing on his elbows as he pulled away from the pillows and sleep but his face remained clear, and for a half-second, he even managed a slight smile. "It's all right, Maes," he said, continuing to work himself upright, blinking his eyes hard as if to wake himself up. "You can calm down, already... being that antsy doesn't suit you. And it's a worthwhile question, anyway. Hell, I'd probably be asking it too, if I were in your shoes."

He went quiet for another moment. His hands folded incessantly together in his lap only to separate again, twitching, as if the nervous energy filling him to the brim that Maes remembered from before was still there, somewhere deep inside him, but he still sat himself back upright, an uneasy juxtaposition of the strong, controlled colonel and the nervous wreck he remembered. "You're right," he said quietly, gaze still downcast, hands still twitching. "I'm... okay for now, but I think a lot of that is because of what I'm still taking. But they told me I won't be able to keep taking it for much longer. That because I got so sick that means it's just too dangerous for me to go back on it... I asked if there was something else I could take instead. They sent a shrink up to tell me no. Then they sent him back the day after that, and the day after _that,_ because apparently you can't end up in the hospital from a self-inflicted stab wound and convince the world that you're fine that easy."

Maes tentatively smiled again, forcing himself to still at the bitter little twist to Roy's mouth. Somehow, he wasn't very surprised, either at the hospital's caution or Roy's own obvious annoyance about it. "And I'm sure that was of a _great_ help to you."

But the sarcastic, biting sort of agreement he had been expecting to those words did not come.

His friend, again, remained silent. He picked at a stray thread for a moment, fingers twitching, then took in a long, slightly shuddering breath, suddenly- again- seeming to find it very difficult to look at Maes.

"...Buddy?"

Roy shifted uncomfortably again.

The silence stretched on; Maes, in fact, was just beginning to regret his earlier assumption, to so lightly brush it off, and was even just about to take it back when Roy coughed and cleared his throat all at once, dark eyes half-flickering onto him before roving straight past, as if nervous to really _look_ at him and what might be waiting for him on Maes' face. "Actually?" he ventured unsteadily, continuing to pull and stretch at that loose thread like he just couldn't still his hands.

Maes, again, bit his tongue into silence, and waited.

"At... at first, no," Roy said finally, squaring his shoulders. He took another breath, hands clenching in his lap. "I couldn't get past the... stigma of it, I suppose. But I think I still wasn't clear-headed enough for anyone to actually listen to me, because he kept coming back no matter how rude I was or how I tried to intimidate or insult or bribe him into leaving me alone, and now... I don't know, Maes. It's... really not what I was expecting."

Another brief pause dominated the room. Roy seemed to almost want him to interrupt or derail the conversation this time, but Maes continued to keep his silence, too focused on what his best friend was trying to say, and when no break in the silence came the colonel simply grimaced himself, shaking his head. He fidgeted a little again, still seeming uncomfortable with actually looking at him as he said this. "It's nothing like the quacks they made us see after Ishval. You remember, to make sure none of us were going to snap like Kimbley. He's never wasted my time asking me to draw my feelings out in crayon, at least," he huffed, pushing himself back against the headboard again with another eye roll, but then his voice and eyes softened, gaze turning distant as he finally glanced up towards Maes with the slightest of nervous, almost hopeful smiles. "He's never even asked me to talk about... you know. So far it hasn't really been anything but just trying to help me come up with alternatives to just drinking myself senseless. Drugging. Whichever. I can't take anything any more, this was really the last route left that I hadn't tried, and..."

Frustration flickered briefly across his face again, like he wasn't sure how to say it, but his best friend quickly pushed even that away with a short shake of his head. "And I think I'm going to keep seeing him," he finished finally, sinking back against the array of pillows to stare down and pick at a loose thread on his sweater. "It's... helping. In a lot of ways I didn't realize that it would. ...and like I said," he went on with an abrupt and lighthearted smile, as if trying to lift the move but not succeeding very well when Maes could still see the sardonicism in his eyes, "it's not as if I have any other options left."

Maes sat there quietly himself, again refusing his natural instinct to just say what came to mind, because he knew how he reacted to this was going to be very important.

So Roy had... actually, willingly agreed to see someone. Maes, in all honestly, had never believed it possible. Roy was too stubborn, too proud, too self-reliant to ask for help. He was too embarrassed, wracked with too much guilt, too ashamed of all that had happened, both what had been done to him and how badly he had failed to try and cope with it on his own. He was just- just too dammed _proud_ to ever be able to tolerate being seen as weak, and Maes knew that was what this was to him. That some part of Roy saw it as weak and, far worse, was expecting for Maes to see it as weak, too.

He knew that it had probably taken Roy an incredible amount of effort, or perhaps just humility, to lower his walls enough to accept this at all. He also knew that the wrong reaction from him, the reaction that Roy was waiting for right now, perfectly silent and still, would be more than enough to ruin it.

His best friend, Maes determined in that moment, was an idiot.

A gigantic, flaming idiot.

As far as he was concerned, he didn't care _what_ Roy had to do to get better. If he decided to take up tap dancing and sing at his aunt's bar Maes would give him a high five and ask him what size shoe he wore so he could get him some for Christmas.

If, at the end of the day, it helped Roy, then it was good enough for him.

"So," Maes said warmly. He settled back in his chair and took extra care to arrange his features in the warmest, most unwavering smirk that he could, looking his best friend right in the eyes. "What you're trying to tell me is, I am never going to be able to take you out drinking again without having your new friend waiting in the wings to tell me that it's not healthy. My own last remaining vice... and you have now just taken it away from me. How _could_ you."

His best friend said nothing in return, nothing at first, just tilted his head to a little to watch him with speculative, narrowed eyes. Maes knew he was turning the words over in his head, translating them for himself and then translating them again, wanting to be _sure,_ so the pause stretched on and the colonel continued to frown...

And then, his expression softened.

"I don't quite see the problem... are you complaining that drunk me is so fun you won't be able to live without him, Hughes?" He smiled, or perhaps it was just a smirk- one sly, very slight smirk, confident smirk. "Or are you more worried about how much of a disaster drunk _you_ is, because now sober me will be there to properly gather and collect blackmail materials?"

"Isn't it obvious?! I can't have fun myself if I know you're sitting there judging me!"

"Not... judging," the colonel murmured, smirking a little again. "I prefer to think of it as just laughing on the inside."

"Oh. So you're laughing at me, now! That's better? Judging is too far but _laughing_ is somehow better?" He threw his hands up in mock exasperation, sitting back to stare at Roy with the most accusing look he could muster. "Betrayed, by my own friend! _Betrayed,_ I tell you. I can't believe this! How could you?!"

This time it was Roy's turn for an exasperated huff, but he was smiling, a slight but genuine twist to his mouth as he finally settled back down again, dropping back onto his side with a great _whuff._ "Oh, stuff if, Queen Melodrama," he muttered, but there was warmth and another smile, there, an for perhaps the first time in this entire visit Maes was at last contented with the certainty that he had finally done something _right._

In the new, finally contented peace that settled throughout the room, quiet and steady, Roy began to curl up a little more, hugging his book back to his chest as his eyes flickered again. He looked exhausted, and perfectly satisfied to simply wilt away under the warmth of the blanket to fall back into sleep, and Maes knew he could not begrudge him that.

This peace had been a long time coming, after all... and after everything that he had fought through to make it here, Roy more than deserved it. He deserved every bit of respite that Maes could give him.

But as the contented and calm silence stretched on, Roy's eyes flickering slowly again and again... Maes' own sense of peace was unsettled.

A little seed of uneasiness wormed its way through his stomach, taking root, and a cold discomfort began to slither through him from head to toe.

Because there was more than one reason he'd needed to finally sit face to face with his best friend- but there was only one reason that he had come _today._

A very big part of him wanted to ignore it. That big part of him saw that calm and exhaustion shadowing his friend's face and just didn't have the heart to ruin it; it saw his worn out best friend who had been to hell and back over and over and wanted nothing more than to just let him sleep while that slight smile was still on his face. He was so _tired_ of having to see his best friend miserable and god, at least just for this one day, he so desperately did not want to be the reason those shadows came back to haunt him. He wanted to let Roy go to sleep for the first time in months with a smile on his face and to escape from the horrors he'd been through just for _one_ miserable day.

But the rest of him, even looking at Roy's tired eyes now and seeing the warmth of sleep slowly easing the lines of stress and grief away from his face with that small little smirk that was so familiar it made his heart swell-

He knew he had to do this today.

Roy would want him to. And everything that had happened, all that had gone wrong- arguably, wasn't it all because Maes had tried to decide what was best for Roy over his own wishes? He'd ignored his best friend's suffering and protests because he'd thought he'd known what was best, and in the end, this was where that had gotten them: Roy with a hole through his stomach and on the mend from a psychotic break.

Roy, at the very least, had the right to try to sink or swim on his own. No matter how badly Maes just wanted to protect him, he could _not_ keep taking it from him.

So Maes closed his own eyes for one brief, struggling moment. He took in a long breath, willing himself back to something calm and trying to still the gentle tremors crawling through his hands.

Then he looked back at his best friend, and he walked straight in.

"Roy?"

His best friend flinched a little, jerking like one awoken out of a half-doze. A glower flickered across his features before he blinked blearily again, seeming to realize where he was, then shook his head at himself with an almost embarrassed sigh. "Hmm?" he murmured in his throat, clearly trying to pretend he hadn't almost passed out with Maes watching him as he started to work himself back upright again.

A fond smile trembled back across Maes' lips, but the worry in his stomach prevailed, and soon even that was gone. He waited at first, watching as Roy pushed himself back upright, wanting to be sure he was fully awake and listening- but when his friend's curious eyes returned to his, bright and sure, he knew he couldn't delay any longer.

"I, ah... actually had something I needed to talk to you about." He hesitated again, lowering his eyes to his lap, then pulling his glasses off on impulse, slowly polishing at them just for the need of something to do. "Besides all of this, I mean."

"...Oh?"

"...Yeah." Maes could hear the quiet whisper of trepidation in Roy's voice, and couldn't help a sympathetic sort of smile, because it was nothing compared to the flame of it that already burned deep within Maes' own chest. He took a deep, shuddering breath again, then forced himself to push his glasses back on, turning his gaze back to Roy. "I've been going through your mail, the past couple of days. Just to make sure nothing time-sensitive got lost in there, you know? ...Well. You got this, Roy."

And Maes, his heart in his throat, and with the ever increasing trepidation settling onto the shadows of Roy's face, reached into his inner jacket pocket, and withdrew one thin letter. Without another word, he held it out to Roy.

After a long beat of uncertain, thick silence, his friend took it.

The silence dragged on. Maes didn't dare speak, and Roy seemingly could not. His best friend simply sat there, absolutely frozen, staring downwards in wordless shock. His face faded from pale to white as snow to a sickly grey, and inch by inch, his grip curled into a fist so tight it nearly wore a hole into the paper.

And Maes knew exactly what it was he was staring at.

The return address of the letter that had turned up in his mailbox that, very clearly, in stark, undeniable black and white, told them that it had been sent by Melissa Weber.

The chilling silence stretched on. In the close, small space of the hospital room, Maes abruptly found it almost suffocating.

Roy's jaw at last tensed. The paper crinkled a little more under his fist, unreadable, dark eyes still focused only downwards on the damming words before him. "Am I to presume," he began slowly, voice forcibly cold and detached, like an angry shard of ice, "that you have already read this for yourself? To ensure it was... _safe_ for you to give me?" He still did not look upwards from the letter, did not even twitch at all, and his face was as cold and unreadable as a rock.

Maes' heart clenched guiltily again. It was a fair question, so much so that it made him almost sick. "No," he told him honestly, swallowed back the miserable guilt that tightened in his throat. "I... I won't lie and say I didn't want to, but... it's addressed to you. It's not addressed to me."

He'd wanted, so much, to open the letter for himself. Roy's last words with Melissa had nearly broken him in two, and in fact if Roy had had one or two more pills with him that day, they would've killed him. Roy was recovering now but it was a fight, he could see it in his eyes, it was a fight every day and the very, very last Maes had ever wanted to do was let Melissa break him again. He wanted, more than anything else, so very _badly,_ to keep him safe. That was _all_ that he wanted.

But, first and foremost, this was Roy's battle to fight.

Maes could not fight it for him.

His friend blinked in momentary surprise, a faint disbelief flickering through his eyes, but it was beaten down into that cold impassivity a heartbeat later. Maes knew there was a maelstrom of emotion hidden behind those eyes, guilt and confusion and trepidation and perhaps something close to panic and a nest of agony, but Roy hid it all beyond that cold, unbreakable mask and tense grip of his hand. He sat there for several long moments, completely still and and his cold, pale face utterly blank.

Then, wordless and deft, the colonel dragged one metal finger to break the seal of the envelope, and pulled the letter out for himself.

The paper crinkled a little in his lap. Roy's dark eyes moved silently, face still that impassive mask that didn't let a single flicker of emotion through. He read through the letter in absolute silence, unmoving and unwavering, his narrowed eyes moving down line by line.

He stiffened minutely. His mouth opened in a slight, tiny _o,_ the paper in his hands crinkling just a little bit more.

Then, with the softest of gasps, he started to read over the letter again, his mouth silently forming the words and his expression washing out in an even colder shock. An automail finger traced the paper, curling as if he wanted to tear through it.

God, what did it say? What the hell did it _say?_ Maes itched to speak up, apprehension squirming down his spine, desperately wanting to just snatch the letter away to read it for himself, or at least beg Roy to speak up, say _something-_ what did it say? What had Melissa written to him?! Was she blaming him, was she telling him to stay away from her, was it about their baby, what-?

The letter, freed from Roy's tight as iron grip, dropped gently down to the bed, like a leaf drifting in the wind. The colonel just tared blankly into space before him, not broken or devastated or hurt but just in _shock,_ face pale and cold as snow.

What-? What was it?! What had the letter said?! _What was it?!_

The silence stretched on and on, Roy silent and staring, saying nothing, until Maes could not _stand_ it anymore. "Roy, what is it?" he gasped, reaching a hand forward. "What did she s-"

And then, Maes' words were cut off with a soft _wuff_ as the colonel jerked around towards him, eyes gone wide and breaths a shocked gasp, and without one single word, he threw his arms around him.

The force of the hug left him limp, and the arms around him knocked the breath right out of him.

Roy was still quiet, the only noise out of him rapid, shuddering gasps by his shoulder, but he clung to him like a drowning man grappling for a piece of driftwood at sea. Fingers dug into his shoulders like iron and he gasped with broken cracks of his voice and shook, squeezing him tight and refusing to let go, like that letter had been one neat nail into the one crack of his already crumbling armor and shattered him right then and there and he was helpless but to hold on and not let go. Maes, after a paralyzed breath of shock, scrabbled to hold him back, wrapping his arms around him in return and trying to hold him up, stumbling through weak words of comfort that went nowhere because he didn't know what was _wrong._ "R-Roy, it's- it's okay-" he gasped, one hand running down his shivering back on instinct alone, wanting to protect him and smother away whatever was wrong and keep it all away from him-

But he didn't know what was wrong, and his words, weak and half-formed as they were, meant nothing.

This time, with a trembling, gasping Roy in his arms, distraught and crumbling and Maes useless but to hold him to chase it away, he didn't have it in him to control himself anymore.

He held Roy in his arms, cradling the shivering form as tightly as he could to his chest and not letting him go. But that one thin sheet of paper lay behind him, limp and abandoned and at fault for it _all,_ and this time there was no hesitation in his heart whatsoever as pulled Roy even closer to let him go, just for a second, so he could lift up the letter and read it over Roy's trembling shoulder.

 

_Colonel Mustang,_

 

_I think the best way to say this is to be blunt. So: I'm leaving._

_I have some relatives out of the city that are willing to take me in until the end of my pregnancy. By the time you get this, I'll already have left Central, so there’s no point in you coming by to try and convince me otherwise. I’m going to stay in with my relatives at least until I give birth, and then I'm going to give them the baby. I know I’m not fit to take care of a child right now, and knowing how he came to be, I don't think I could ever be able to see past that enough to be a good mother. He deserves better than what I can give._

_These are good people, that I’m giving him to. They’re well off, and they’re good parents. They’ll give him a better life than I ever could have, and love him much more than I ever would’ve been able to myself. He’ll also never meet me, and I think it’s best that way. He doesn't need to know how he came to be or what carrying him did to me. He deserves a chance._

_I was actually going to ask you not to search for him, either. That's why I sat down to write this. But now that I'm here, I don't think I can do it._

_I hated you for a long time. But meeting you again, having to remember all the support you once gave me through the worst days of my life, I think that I've come to understand something. You and I, in all of this? We share in our blamelessness. We were made victims together, and neither of us holds any greater share of pain or suffering out of what they made us do. I have the right to ask that you do not look for me, I think. But I do not have the right to ask that you do not look for your son. All I do ask is that whatever you choose, you try to do so with his best interests in mind._

_I expect this to be the last time I ever speak to you. With that in mind, Roy._

_I understand why you did what you did. I don’t know if I can ever forgive it. What I can do, Roy, is understand it. I don't want you to blame yourself for what we went through, and I don't need you to be sorry for not being enough to stop it. All I can do from here for myself is live, and though I might not know you very well, I think that's the only choice you have for yourself, as well. I think all either of us can do is live._

_I'm sincerely sorry for calling you, and bringing you back into this. It was a mistake, and I hope someday, you can forgive me for it. Thank you for all that you did for me. You made what was otherwise a very difficult time for me a little more bearable._

_I wish you all the best._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Melissa Weber_

 

_P.S._

_I’m not using ‘he’ for convenience. The baby is a boy. I’m going to ask my relatives to name him Ben._

 

The wordless silence stretched on through the room. It remained broken only by Roy's unsteady, deep as bone gasps, and the scratch of his shuddering arms around him digging into his shirt, because now, Roy was not the only one who was left without words.

Now Maes understood.

Oh, he understood.

His anger at Melissa, both old and new, a quiet whisper of insidious blame that he'd wanted to stifle but at seeing his best friend broken, had not been able to, crumbled up to wither and die with nothing but a whimper. Instead he felt almost sick, nausea and guilt squirming in his stomach, and for the first time, he could truly feel nothing but sorry for her.

This wasn't fair at all. This wasn't fair to either of them, he thought with a sudden new burning of tears in his eyes. This just-

They'd been through too much.

It wasn't goddamn _fair._

"H-how-" Roy gasped at last, so hoarse and warped it took a moment for him to even recognize it as a word at all. "How... _could she..."_

Maes simply shook his head, saying nothing. He ran his hand down Roy's back again, feeling the violent shudders and tremors through the sweater, and knew there was nothing for him to say. His throat felt tight himself and he doubted any attempt at words would go very well, anyway.

That letter was everything that Roy had needed to hear, and everything that he couldn't bear, all in the same breath.

He couldn't blame him for being distraught. Maes imagined he wouldn't have been much better himself.

 _How the hell can any just world hurt them this much?_ he thought desperately, hand stroking gently down his shuddering, heaving back again. _How can they be hurt this **badly** and still yet have to fight through even more?!_

But the world was not fair, and there was no answer.

Roy gasped on for several long, nearly unbearable moments, each breath deep and violent and cracked, the grip of his arms still desperate and his every tremor devastated. "It's n-not-" he panted at last, shaking his head hard, "s-she- she can't-"

"...I know, Roy," he murmured gently, trying to swallow back his own grief. "I know."

None of it was fair, none of it was all right, none of it was okay- and this was still how it was.

There was nothing more for Maes to fix. There were no more battles for Roy to fight.

This was all that remained.

Melissa had been right, Maes thought with anguish, burying his fingers to the ends of Roy's hair. They had both been victimized together, blameless in all that had happened, but it _had_ happened, and now there was nothing left for either of them except to just try and live.

A tall order for them both. A tall order, Maes knew, when Roy had spent the last days, weeks, _months,_ where each and every day felt like a war just to get to the end of it.

But she was right.

Finally, long and anguishing minutes after Roy had thrown his arms around him, the trembling began to die down. Roy's grip loosened a little, his head weighing against him like he no longer had the strength to keep it upright, and Maes kept his arms around him, giving him as much support as he could even as he sagged and his breaths shook and his worn out form shook with it.

There was nothing to be done, to ease this wound. No careful hug, or warm words, or perhaps even time itself, could calm that hurt.

But it was a hurt he still needed to endure, because Melissa had told the truth, and it was one that someday, Maes knew, _someday,_ his best friend would be strong enough to bear.

Maes swallowed hard, trying to quiet the emotion agonizingly tightening in his throat as his fingers came to rest in Roy's hair again. "I hope you know how much I love you," he murmured, struggling it out, nearly choked on it, but just needing to say it.

Roy was still shuddering in his arms, without words and quiet as he nearly hiccuped through something close to a sob. He said nothing still, trembling violently, but at last his head tilted in a slight nod, and the nervous, desperate shaking that wracked through him at last began to quiet within him.

Sensing he no longer needed it anymore, Maes tentatively moved back as well, this time sliding gently into place beside him, close enough for their shoulders to touch. He said nothing, simply letting the colonel sag by his side, his shoulders slumped and head hanging, his each and every breath a ragged heave of wrung defeat.

Slowly, the trembling died away completely, and with it went the gasps. The pain hewn into his face. The agony that glimmered so potent in his eyes. With it went the vehement violence of every breath and shudder until he was still next to him, perhaps not calm but instead so wrung and exhausted, and every part of him radiating a broken anguish as deep as his soul.

"Are you okay?" Maes finally asked, leaning just a little closer into his shoulder.

Another slow, unsteady breath wracked through his shoulders. "N-not really," he rasped, guttural and shocked, then hung his head again. He took in another deep, shaking breath, evidently trying to calm or at least still himself.

Maes swallowed tightly. He supposed he could not rightfully expect an answer better than that. At least, not an honest one.

He waited again, silent through the quiet pain that had gathered in the stifling room. There was not enough time in a day for Roy to steady himself from this, but a few minutes, he figured, were the very least that he could do.

At last, when his friend again felt the slightest bit calmer by his side, Maes went on again. "Do you know what you're going to do?" He glanced unhappily down at the letter, laying abandoned still on the sheets, and again found himself struck with the momentary need to blink back tears. He was struck, once again, with the desperate urge to throw it away entirely.

Again, there was another long stretch of silence.

Maes could not blame him for it.

Until at last, his answer came in a single, grim nod.

The quiet steadiness of that one, simple gesture took him by surprise. No words were immediate in following it, but his answer was clear all the same- his answer, and when he looked down into his best friend's eyes, his determination was clear, too. He'd come to a conclusion reading that letter, Maes realized. He'd finally reached some sort of resolution on that thin, fluttering letter of blame and absolution, agony and forgiveness- and that resolution was what he'd needed to find.

Again, Maes found himself waiting in silence. Whatever Roy was ready to tell him, he would say in his own time. All Maes could offer was the space for him to do it.

"Melissa is right," his friend said finally, straightening again by his side to stare downwards at his hands, turning them over in his lap. The scars circled thickly over both sides, deep and rough, twisting from automail to flesh in a wicked canvas of suffering and survival, one that made Maes' heart clench, but Roy's breaths, again, were steady. "When she said that whatever my choice, I should make it with the best interest of... of my _son_ in mind. And as I am right now- well, I've already said it. Today alone, Maes, I've already said it. Today... today, I am not fit to take care of him."

There was another pregnant pause, the colonel's cold hands continuing to shift nervously together in his lap.

Then, with a steadying breath, he clenched together into fists, and continued on.

"I'm going to change that."

"...Roy...?"

His best friend took another deep breath, bowing his head and closing his eyes, seeming to be trying to still himself, to fill himself with strength, his face still sickly pale but clear in a way it had not been before. "I'm going to take a leave of absence," he said quietly, head still down. "I need some time. To- to try and get myself out of this hole I dug myself into, and to give some serious thought into what I want to do next. I've... actually been considering this for quite a while," he admitted reluctantly, face slipping into a small, somewhat young smile, "but- the decision is made, now. If... if Fuhrer is now out of reach, then... I need to accept that. Fuhrer was always just a means to an end, a very big end, perhaps, but- there are other paths that I can take to try and help this country and help Ishval and those are the paths that I need to take, now. I won't help anyone by continuing to pine after what I can no longer have. I can only help this country and myself if I commit myself to what paths are still open to me, so... so that is just what I'm going to do."

He paused again, smiling slightly to himself, then just shook his head, a sense of peace crossing across his face again that Maes had not seen in him in a very, very long time. "So I'm going to talk to my superiors about putting in my papers," he murmured, and this time, it was with a sense of finality. "I'm going to try and get myself back in order at first... maybe I'll speak to Edward and Alphonse, see if they'd be willing to accept some help for a while. Travel with them for a bit... maybe I can't help Ishval right now, but I _can_ help them, and- and I want to. I want to do all that I can for them, and right now, I think they're the only ones still under my care that I can protect. But... that's only a stepping stone."

A shadow of uncertainty flickered across his face again as he glanced up towards Maes, but this time it was quickly chased away by the warm light of determination. He set his jaw and nodded again, nodded as if to himself, but he did not break his gaze with Maes. "You were right, Maes. I have a choice. I can choose to either stay hurt, and lick my wounds for the rest of my life... or, I can choose to keep on going. Wounds and all. Well... you may have needed to drag me kicking and screaming along the way... and- and give me more support than anyone should've had to. And I'm sorry. But you did get me this far, Maes... and you were right. I have the power to decide to stop being all that I was, and instead pick myself up and keep going. So, I- oh..." Roy's smile softened into an affectionate sort of smirk, and he rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a girl, Maes," he chuckled weakly, reaching up with one hand to give one quick, firm pat at his cheek where the burning in his eyes had finally overflowed. "Aren't I embarrassed enough for both of us right now? You have to go off and turn yourself into a sap along with me, Maes?"

Maes, finally swallowing hard, trying and utterly failing to fight back the painful lump in his throat, took Roy's hand in his own to push it off. Again, the sarcastic smirk he tried for crumbled apart almost immediately, softening into the weak and- yes, goddammit, Roy- teary smile that he could not hold back. "Shut up," he choked out, pushing the bastard's hand back over to himself, but he still could not hold back the tears or his smile.

 _I knew you could do it,_ he wanted to say. _I knew you could do it. I KNEW you could do it. I'm so fucking proud of you, I knew you could do it, I knew it,_ but his throat remained just a little bit too tight for him to trust his voice to get through it, so he said nothing instead, and just fought back tears and continued to smile.

Because it was who his best friend was. He'd fought through every trauma and ordeal to come out the other side standing and stronger, because there was some part of him that had good he still wanted to see done in the world and wouldn't let himself rest until it had been done. So he'd fought through every hell this world had had to offer- and Maes had always believed he was strong enough to make it through this one, too. Even at their very, very worst, some part of him had always believed in Roy, believed in him just as much as the day he'd sworn himself to him in that hot and dusty desert, because his best friend was not the kind of man to ever let another down.

He'd believed it, and now, after months of suffering and even more months of hell, Roy had come through.

Not just for him, not just for the Elrics, or Hawkeye, or Ishval, or Melissa- but for himself.

He loved him so much, in that moment, it felt like his heart would burst.

"Don't apologize for any of this," he managed at last, closing his eyes to try and force the tears back once and for all. "You came through. And that's all that matters."

Roy inclined his head down with another small, tremulous sort of smile. He allowed Maes to lean against his shoulder again, the contact somehow all he could give to express all that he wanted to say, but Roy still went on. "Not quite yet," he murmured, still with that impossibly slight, steady smile. "As I said. I need to take some time. What happened before... I can't allow myself to fall down like that again. So I'm going to try and put myself back together for a while. I'm going to try and help the Elrics still as best as I can, because they're still under my care whether I'm their commander or not and I want to be there to see this through with them to the end. But... some day. When... w-when I'm ready."

There was another brief, heartfelt pause. Roy closed his eyes for a moment, and when he closed them, they were fragile, almost wet- but when he opened them, they were dry, and steady, once again.

And so was his smile.

"I'd like to meet my son."

 


End file.
